When An Alpha Dies
by caughtinblackseyes
Summary: Derek travels back to Beacon Hills to pull the Pack together after a devastating loss. Braeden thinks it's a bad idea, but Derek can't walk away from his grieving wolves. Not only is he going back to help the Pack. He's going back to meet up with the new Alpha... Stiles. Derek/Stiles, Derek/Braeden, Scott/Allison, Jackson/Lydia, Isaac/Allison
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

The very last thing Derek ever expected was to be returning to Beacon Hills. He thought he'd left this hell hole behind along with all the pain and heartache this cursed place had brought to him and his family.

"This is a mistake." The woman sitting next to him muttered angrily. "Not to mention, stupid."

Derek's grip on the steering wheel tightened. She'd been spouting the same line for the last two weeks and while he agreed with her to certain extent, her haranguing was really getting old. He tried to remember that all of this was just as stressful for her as it was to him, so he made an effort to keep his tone even when he answered.

"You didn't have to come with me. I could've figured this all out on my own."

"I didn't _want_ to," she countered with a frown that Derek could see from out of the corner of his eye. "But, I get that you need me and so, I'm on my way back to that damned place whether I want to be or not."

"Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated," was Derek's sarcastic reply. "I'm well aware of your reservations and I get them, okay? I just… I can't leave them on their own. They need my help and from what Chris has said, they're not dealing well. It's hard to lose someone…"

Derek's voice broke off, and against his will, he felt the sharp sting of tears behind his eyes. He just couldn't believe it. He knew what had happened was part and parcel of being a werewolf, but it still hurt like a bitch. He slapped his hand against the dash, startling Braeden. Wisely, she didn't rebuke him. If she had, he would have done something stupid, like growl or roar or maybe something even worse. Derek was grieving and when a werewolf was grieving, their control wasn't at its finest.

"This isn't your fault, Derek," she whispered. "What happened is just one of those things that ultimately happens when the supernatural is in the playing cards, and it doesn't get much more supernatural than Beacon Hills."

She was right, Derek knew this. Hadn't he just thought very nearly the same thing himself? Still, it was different for her than it was for him; she wasn't a wolf. She'd never truly get the loss, the terrible aching loneliness, the deep, bottomless chasm left behind when a Packs' Alpha dies.


	2. Chapter 2

Old Friends

Chapter 1

Stiles didn't know what the fuck he was doing. Everything, and he meant _everything_ , was going to hell in a hand basket, and there just didn't seem to be anything he could do to stop its descent. How was he supposed to hold the Pack together when he was barely holding himself together? Jesus, he wasn't cut out for this. He was attempting to be strong, to be what the pack needed, to rule the roost like a good Alpha.

Shit. Who was he kidding? He wasn't Alpha material. That dubious honor should've gone to Boyd or – heaven forbid – Jackson. Jackson might be a douche of the highest order, but he was still way better equipped to be an Alpha than Stiles. This was all so totally screwed up, and holy hell he missed Scott like a mother-fucker!

Scott: his best friend, his brother, his Alpha. God, how was he gonna go through life without his better half? It didn't even bear thinking on. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, and he wanted to re-kill the son of a bitch who'd ripped out a part of his soul the moment he'd ripped out Scott's throat. The only positive to this clusterfuck was that the monster that had taken Scott's life was little more than itty-bitty pieces of nothing; destroyed on a cellular level.

Stiles had felt the life ebbing from Scott's body; they all had. His experience had been vastly different than that of the rest of the Pack. They'd been tied to Scott in a way that Stiles hadn't and the reverse was true as well. They'd described it as a sudden pull in their gut followed quickly by an extreme emptiness, a deafening silence and finally… the awful sickly-sweet stench of death.

For him, there had been an agonizing feeling of _wrongness_. He'd been driven to his knees, crushed by the weight of a mixture of fiery pain and the distant howls and chatter invading his mind. The very blood in his veins scorched a path through his extremities, his breathing labored until he saw stars in his line of vision; it was a wonder that he hadn't passed out cold.

His dad kept encouraging him to get mad, to scream, to cry, to get it all out, but Stiles just couldn't seem to manage to do what his dad kept telling him he needed to do in order to begin the healing process. Well, hell… he wasn't even close to being ready to heal; why couldn't his dad get that? It'd only been three months, and not one Pack member was even remotely close to being okay. Stiles was aware that his dad was just trying to help him, help the Pack, and that if he'd just try to release some of his own pent up grief the Pack would follow suit, and maybe, _maybe_ they could start to come to grips with this catastrophe.

Intellectually, Stiles knew they – or rather, he – had to get control of things; of himself. He was the Alpha now, and the rest took their cue from him. The Pack was in tune with their Alpha's emotions and most definitely their scent and – as Stiles was beginning to discover – with his thoughts to a certain extent. So far, Stiles had been giving off nothing but panic, despair and confusion. So, it was no wonder the Pack was a mess.

How had this become his life?!

Stiles drew a deep breath taking in the potent odor of dirt and leaves. October wasn't far off and the forest was reflecting that fact. He felt good out here; the restlessness which plagued him whenever he was with the Pack was notably absent. He walked the forest often for this very reason all the while knowing his behavior was distressing to the others, but couldn't find it in himself to care because he _needed_ this. Needed to be free from the shackles of responsibilities he was unprepared to take on along with the alien invasion of his senses and his mind by the other Pack members. How had Scott dealt with it? It was crazy and for someone who already felt kinda nuts, well, if he wasn't careful it might drive him over the edge.

A tiny sound accompanied by slight movement from the brush drew Stiles' attention back from his thoughts. The minute rustling would have gone completely unnoticed by the old Stiles, but with his new nifty-difty bionic hearing, he caught it easily. Immediately he felt his hackles rise, a snarl rumbled up from deep within his chest while adrenaline began to pound through his body in preparation of fight or flight. Stiles wouldn't flee, no sirree bob, he would hold his ground and defend his territory to the death if need be, but hopefully it wouldn't come down to that. He'd experienced enough death in his not inconsiderable eighteen years.

Stiles waited, tightly strung as the intruder stepped out into the open. He was hallucinating, he _had_ to be; there couldn't be any other explanation. Derek Hale was not actually standing about ten feet away, he wasn't! Stiles knew this because the guy had basically deserted them, left them all alone with no thought as to how – or if – they'd be able to mange without him. No, it wasn't Derek; Stiles' eyes were just out of whack. It wasn't until a stray breeze swept the scent of exotic spice and leather into his nostrils that Stiles allowed reality to come crashing down.

"Oh, my God," Stiles breathed in wonder. Within the space of a nanosecond, wonder moved seamlessly into anger. "You _bastard_ !"

Stiles strode briskly toward the other man; face etched with inhuman rage and reached out grabbing him by the lapels of that damned stupid leather jacket.

"You," Stiles bit out, so livid that he had to take a moment to breathe deeply before continuing. "Don't belong here."

Pain exploded through his clenched fist and that, along with blood dripping in copious amounts from Derek's nose, brought home the fact that Stiles had punched the former Alpha of Beacon Hills. If he hadn't been so devastated, Stiles would have laughed at the surprised astonishment on Derek's mangled face.

"Get out! Go back to wherever you disappeared to."

Derek used the hem of his grey T-shirt to stem the flow of blood and Stiles took dark satisfaction in the way he winced as he gingerly wiped at his nose. Alpha strength had its advantages, and he smirked snidely when Derek gave him a slightly apprehensive look. Good. Now maybe Derek would realize he wasn't one to be trifled with.

Trifled with? Geesh, when had he started sounding like a cheap dime store romance novel? Stiles decided it didn't matter because the meaning and end result were the same, and he wanted Derek to what? Fear him? Respect him? Stiles wasn't sure, but now there was no room for doubt that he wasn't a fragile human anymore. There was that at least. The rest he'd figure out when he had the opportunity to sit and think about it.

"I'm sorry," Derek muttered darkly. "I…"

"Sorry," Stiles interrupted, aghast. "You're _sorry_ ?"

Throwing his arms wide, Stiles stated sarcastically, "Well, that makes everything okay then. All is fine and right with the world because Derek Hale is _sorry_. Yup, we're all good. Everything's hunky-dory cause you're _SORRY_ !"

Stiles poked Derek hard in the chest and said with quiet sincerity, "Fuck you, Derek. You can take your 'sorry' and shove it sideways up your tight ass." Poking harder – a thing Stiles would never have done a year ago, but hey, a year can change a lot of things – he continued spitefully, "Your 'sorry' doesn't mean shit!"

Derek's form blurred, but Stiles didn't let up as he shouted, "You should've been here! Instead, you pulled up stakes and ran off like a thief in the night! No message! No good-bye, nothing! You're a fucking coward! Didn't answer your phone, at _all_ ! Didn't know if you were dead or alive and we tried, you great big ass, we tried to get in touch with you! You fucking ignored us; _all_ of us!"

"Stiles…"

Throwing his hands in the air, Stiles screamed, "SHUT UP! He's dead! Do you _even_ get that?! He's gone! _Forever_ ! I'm never gonna hear his dorky laugh again, never gonna have to listen to him talk about Allison non-stop and ad-nauseam. I'll never get him to watch Star Wars, and he'll _never_ get all my geeky references! Who am I gonna play Call To Duty with? Huh? _Who_ ?! I still need to whoop his ass, cause the last game he wiped the floor with me and I hafta get him back, ya know? But, it's too late! Too damned late! For _everything_ !"

Stiles ignored the tears streaming down his face and the snot dribbling out his nose.

"Where were you," Stiles cried pathetically. "Where," he blubbered incoherently. "It all went to hell," Stiles sobbed. "And where the hell were you?"

Stiles felt his body crumpling but not the hard impact of the forest floor because strong arms caught him and gathered him close, holding him gently.

Derek's broken voice whispered in his ear, "I'm here now."

Stiles let Derek cradle him against his shoulder while he wailed and wept as if his heart were breaking which made sense because it was.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek grabbed the slim column of Stiles' throat, pressing his nose more firmly into the skin behind Derek's ear. He knew that the scent of another wolf would help calm Stiles and even give him a modicum of comfort. The boy's body shook with desperate sobs and Derek's own grief threatened to overwhelm him. It was almost too much and this close it was even worse because Stiles' pain increased his own ten-fold.

It didn't matter though because this wasn't about his pain, it was about Stiles' so Derek wrapped his other arm more firmly around the boys' back clutching him tighter. Stiles' grip on his jacket intensified, his face burrowed deeper into the crook of Derek's neck snuffling wetly and – if he were being totally honest – it was really gross, but he let the boy continue with his scent-marking because it was helping.

Finally Stiles pulled back, letting out a great shuddering breath before asking, "Are you gonna head out for parts unknown as soon as I turn my back?"

Derek shook his head, too choked up to verbalize his answer because even though he felt the relief coming off of Stiles in waves, the kid looked beyond wrecked. Tears were drying in messy trails all over the splotchy pink skin of his face. He'd grown during the last year, gotten broader as well but his cheekbones were far too prominent; it looked as if he wasn't getting his daily allowance of curly fries. Derek wished he had a tissue or something because globs of snot were crusting in the divot between his nose and the upper curve of his mouth. The overall sight was worrisome but not nearly so when compared with the defeated emptiness reflecting back at him from those wounded amber eyes.

Licking his lips, Stiles pinned him with a glare, "I'm still fucking furious at you!"

Derek squeezed Stiles' nape in understanding and pulled until their foreheads touched, replying in a low regretful way, "I know. It's okay. I… I should've been here for all of you. I really am sorry."

"You left," Stiles breathed out brokenly. "We needed you dammit and I'm not just talking about the last few months either. Scott…," he stopped, voice cracking… "He tried, he did but he was so far out of his depth."

Stiles stepped back and Derek had no other choice but to let him, his hand falling to his side feeling strangely cold and empty.

"If you'd been here maybe Scott would've started to understand what being an Alpha was truly all about instead of not knowing his ass from a hole in the ground," Stiles exclaimed sharply. "You could've helped him. You _knew_ he was clueless, but what do you do instead? You and Braeden haul ass outta Dodge."

Derek swallowed hard at the bitterness and anxiety coming from the younger man, and then said, "It's complicated, Stiles." The boy snorted. "I had my reasons," he insisted. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain myself, especially now, but whether you believe me or not there were legitimate reasons for my leaving the way I did."

"Do you _remember_ the part from earlier where I told you that you're full of shit because it sounds to me like that didn't register with you or something."

It was difficult to take Stiles too seriously considering he looked as if a good stiff wind would blow him over; not to mention him needing a wet, soapy towel scrubbed thoroughly over his cruddy face. It reminded Derek a bit of when they'd first met out here on the Preserve; he'd looked like a pathetic little boy who'd strayed too far off the beaten path then as well.

Stiles must have zeroed in on his amusement because a second later his eyes began to flash red followed by a low rumbling growl which was a clear warning that pissing him off would not be a good idea.

Derek put his hands up in a placating manner and said, "Sorry, it's just… on the surface you couldn't look less like an Alpha right now."

The color climbing up Stiles' face matched that of his eyes. "I bet you don't cry too pretty either, asshole," Stiles shot back, embarrassed and doing his damnedest to hide it.

Derek raised a brow, but said nothing. Stiles was new to this, so he probably kept forgetting that there wasn't much you can hide from other werewolves much less your Pack. He didn't seem to be having any trouble on picking up on Derek's emotions although he was better than most at camouflaging them. Then again, most Alpha's were almost intrusively in-tune with members of their Pack; Derek had always hated that part because privacy was almost non-existent.

"No one does. Well, maybe Lydia. I mean I've seen her cry plenty and other than her mascara running, she still looked like her same old outstandingly beautiful self." Fidgeting a bit, Stiles cleared his throat before adding, "Let's keep the 'old' part between us. Not that she's old or anything, but I really don't need Lydia Martin getting on my case for a misplaced word. She's got kind of a sharp tongue and isn't afraid to use it; don't know if you remember that or not. Not that I let her bully me or anything it's just sometimes it's easier to just let her skewer you with that deadly tongue of hers immediately and get it over with. If you let her simmer; it's way worse because it gives her time to think up devious as hell paybacks and … oh my _god_ , stop me or something would ya?"

 _This_ was the Stiles Derek remembered. This goofy, constantly running off at the mouth nerdy goober. The sad thing was that while, in a way, this was still who he was; he was also now something more and that wasn't always necessarily a good thing. Scott, for instance, had not taken to being a werewolf well at all. He'd been too resentful and defiant to accept any help Derek might have offered.

Stiles would be an altogether different case. Stiles _could_ learn, and he would eat it up and soak it in because knowledge was something the younger boy craved. He had an eye for details and research no matter how long and loud he'd complained about it in the past. He'd latch onto that computer of his and didn't let it go until he'd had the answers needed to help the people he cared about. Stiles put people before himself whether they were innocent strangers or his nearest and dearest, and that was rare.

Scott had been a True Alpha; there had been no doubt about it. But, this kid; Scott's best friend since childhood – this spastic, dork of a teen-ager who had a tendency to run his mouth off at an alarming rate – had the capacity to be a _great_ one. And, right then and there, Derek decided he was going to stay around. He was going to stay and do his best to help make Stiles Stilinski the best damn alpha Beacon Hills had ever seen


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Are you going to tell him," Braeden asked, running her hand lazily across the naked chest of her lover.

"Tell him what?"

"The real reason you left Beacon Hills," she answered, propping herself up on one elbow to better see Derek's face.

"No," he whispered back, turning to her. "What would be the point?"

Braeden stared into his lovely eyes before stating firmly, "Derek, eventually it will become an issue and something that can't be ignored. I realize you want to stay awhile to see the Pack through this and maybe even help Stiles get a handle on things, but staying too long is dangerous. You already know this, so why are you putting yourself and others in danger?"

"I have a chance here with Stiles that I never had with Scott," Derek informed her quietly but with a firm insistence that she found both annoying and exciting. "Scott was willful and defiant. He resented me and he didn't want to learn."

Derek folded his arms behind his head, gazing at the ceiling. "He couldn't get that there's a certain hierarchy when it comes to being a werewolf; a certain responsibility he wasn't equipped to tackle because he wouldn't accept me as his Alpha."

Lost in thought, it took a moment before he continued in a contemplative manner, "It got worse when he became an Alpha because he lacked training. Scott hated every minute of his life as a werewolf and it showed in how dispersed and disjointed the Pack became after he took over as their leader."

"You think Stiles is okay with it, because let me tell you, I sure as hell didn't get that impression," Braeden mused, sounding dismissive of the newly appointed Alpha.

"Maybe not yet," he shot back, angry on Stiles behalf. She had no right to speak so disrespectfully. It felt wrong and he felt his wolf respond with displeasure.

Tamping the beast down, Derek continued and tried not to sound defensive, "He has the capacity to adapt. He'll do the right thing by the Pack and the people here in this town. I'm not saying Scott didn't because he wouldn't have become a True Alpha unless he'd had high morals and great determination."

Shaking his head from side-to-side, Derek mumbled sadly, "With him, it was rush into the fray before thinking about the consequences. He wouldn't sit still long enough to consider other options on how to handle a dire situation. His emotions ruled his actions and more often than not to his detriment."

"You really believe it'll be any different with Stilinski? That kids a walking, talking emotional basket case."

"Stiles is _grieving_ ," Derek snarled, looking at her once more.

Braeden felt a mad rush of lust shoot through her settling thickly and slickly between her thighs. When he was like this, so commanding and almost feral, she just wanted to leap on him and ride him until she was aching on the inside and bruised on the out. For the most part, he was a fabulous monster in bed, and she relished every tantalizing tryst.

One of Derek's eyebrows arched, and his eyes gleamed red for a second. "As much as I'd like to give you another rough tumble, I need to get to Stiles' house. The Pack is meeting up there and Deaton's coming too."

Derek ignored Braeden's provocative pout and threw the covers out of the way. She eyed his magnificently naked form hungrily and with undisguised admiration as he walked across the room to gather up his clothes.

He stopped in the midst of fastening up his jeans sans underwear when Braeden remarked far too casually, "There was something odd about Stiles, don't you think?"

Derek spun around.

"Were you watching us," he demanded through clenched teeth. Braeden got a bit distracted by his heaving chest; he really was a beautiful specimen. "I told you to come here and book us a room. To stay put until I came back with Stiles."

"I did," she remarked airily. "After doing that, I waited until you drove off and then followed the tire tracks. It was a simple matter for me to track you through the woods when I found where you'd left your car."

"I needed to speak with Stiles _alone_ ! I told you that when you asked to come with me. Why would you do that?"

Braeden yawned, "Oh come on, what's the big deal? If I hadn't told you I was there, you'd have never known. You were too busy with your bromance moment to even pick up my scent."

What she was saying was true. He hadn't had the vaguest notion that she was in the vicinity let alone close enough to witness what had passed between him and Stiles. He wasn't exactly thrilled that she'd seen them embracing and scent-marking each other. It wasn't something a werewolf normally did in the presence of a human.

It did happen occasionally, but only if the human was a mate and other Pack members felt comfortable doing something so intimate in front of them. It was also considered fine to scent-mark while with certain family members of a human mate as long as _they_ were okay with it. It didn't bother most family members, but it was considered good manners to ask first because every now and again someone did find it offensive.

While Derek enjoyed – _really_ enjoyed – their physical relationship, Braeden was not Pack, nor a human mate. What she'd done was considered a major faux pas in werewolf society, and if the code was strictly adhered to, she'd be punished for her actions. It bothered him, what she'd done, but if she'd really known the implications she probably wouldn't have told him she'd been there.

"Braeden," he began sternly, "don't _ever_ do something like that again. What you saw was a very private moment between two werewolves and not meant for human eyes."

She sat up letting the covers fall away from her naked breasts, but Derek's gaze didn't falter from her pissed off face. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited; he knew that look.

"I don't take orders from anyone," she spat out angrily. "Not from humans, not from monsters and not from _you_ ! I don't give a fuck about some stupid, sanctimonious werewolf bullshit."

Casually pushing her long dark hair back over her shoulder, she added spitefully, "I _saw_ him, Derek and if that skinny kid is an actual werewolf, then I'm a monkey's uncle."

Derek didn't know how to answer that because he'd noticed the unnatural frailness too. It had disturbed him greatly, but he hadn't thought too much on it because Stiles had packed quite a wallop; his lips quirked up into a small smile as he recalled the unexpectedness of Stiles' attack.

He'd been taken aback and sent completely off-kilter to the point that he hadn't had the wherewithal to defend himself. An unexpected surge of pride bloomed in Derek's chest. Stiles might not _look_ like your average werewolf, but he did have the strength and the blazing red orbs of an Alpha; one to be reckoned with.

Derek pulled his Henley over his head before saying, "Deaton will have some answers."

Braeden snorted and blurted out cynically, "Sure he will, and he'll probably keep the most important bits back because that's what that asshole does."

Again, Derek couldn't refute her charges. Deaton did have a history of being less than forthright when they'd been in desperate need of answers. He'd been his family's Emissary for years and Derek still knew jack-shit about the man.

He remembered that Stiles had once proclaimed in disgust that he was far too Switzerland-like to be of any real help, and they should just toss his cryptic ass out of Pack business. Derek had been of a mind to agree, but Scott had been against the idea. He'd been passionately loyal to his boss. A gift – which frankly – Deaton had neither earned nor deserved.

Pocketing his keys, Derek left the motel without acknowledging Braeden's simmering ire. He might have gone over and kissed her good-bye, but if she was going to be a bitch about this whole deal, then he'd just as soon let her to it.

The very last thing Derek needed right now on top of everything else was a female mercenary with a grudge. Still, he was willing to risk it because honestly, Braeden was really starting to wear out her welcome. She was desperate to leave this town and, at first, so had he. The plan had been to get in, take care of business and get the hell back out.

Carefully, Derek edged his car out of the tiny parking space. He caught a glimpse of Braeden peeking out from behind the curtain of their motel room. He could have lifted his hand and given her a brief wave; instead he turned the wheel sharply and headed toward the Pack, to the people who needed him… to Stiles.

* * *

 **Author's Note: First - I don't own Teen Wolf or its characters. Second - This is an AU fic so the characters (and whether they are currently alive or dead), the TW timeline (which is already screwed up to hell) and storylines/facts are going to be a horde of mishmash in this fic. Partly because I haven't seen all the seasons of TW yet and because this fic is a combination of TW and my imagination. Basically, we're throwing out the TW rule book; if there is on** e.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"I don't get you, man!"

Stiles sighed. After he and Derek had parted ways, Stiles had sent out a group text to the Pack asking them to meet at his house. Jackson had been shooting off his mouth non-stop since Stiles had walked in trailing Derek's scent. After all the physical contact he and Derek had exchanged, it was inevitable that he'd return – as Jackson had so eloquently put it – 'reeking of Hale-halitosis.' And it wasn't as if Stiles hadn't been expecting this kind of reaction, but what he _hadn't_ been prepared for was the absolutely silent wrath of Lydia Martin.

Lydia – who Stiles _had_ expected to stridently voice her opinion – sat with her lips pursed with some serious 'you are a dinosaur of a jackass, Stilinski' vibes pouring from every fiber of her being. I mean, honestly, if this were a cartoon, streams of smoke would be bursting out of her ears. It was kinda funny, but Stiles hadn't cracked a grin or a joke; he wouldn't have dared.

"That asshole left us high and dry," exclaimed Jackson. "But, the first time he deigns to grace us with his presence and show his ugly mug back in this town you act like he never left! He _dumped_ us, you moron. That's really fucked up, Stilinski. _You're_ really fucked up!"

It pained him to admit it, but Stiles totally understood where Captain Douche was coming from. There was a part of him that was questioning his decision on inviting Derek back here because, in essence, he was inviting him back into their lives; a fact, which clearly scared them all stupid. Jackson was giving it his best effort to disguise that fear with anger, but Stiles could feel it right there underneath all that self-righteous indignation. Hell, _he_ was scared too!

Was he still pissed at Derek for having deserted them all? He sure as shit was but there had been something… different about the other man. Stiles had been in his face big time, hauled off and punched him as hard as he could. What had Derek done? Nothing. No growling or growing of fangs. No retaliatory body slams or smacking his head into a tree – or any available hard surface – like he used to do in the good old days.

Derek's lack of reaction had clearly been partly from surprise but after that had worn off, he could have pounded on Stiles but good, and hadn't. Then, like a total wuss, Stiles had fallen completely apart. Not just a little either; like _alot_! Stiles couldn't recall blubbering that much or that hard _ever_ , or at least not since his mom had died.

After he'd totally lost it, and was about to face-plant onto the ground, the older man had surprised Stiles yet again. Instead of letting him eat dirt, Derek caught his plummeting body, pulled him in and held him close. All the while, the other Alpha kept strongly emanating varying degrees of regret, remorse and a silent, steady sadness.

Dude hadn't even gotten uncomfortable when Stiles had turned into a cross between a clinging vine and a twelve-armed octopus. Cause let's just face facts; Derek Hale was not your average touchy-feely kinda guy.

As if that hadn't been enough to screw with Stiles' already seriously messed up head, Derek hadn't winced or yelled foul when Stiles had rubbed his wet, runny nose all up and down the other guy. That right there just had to have been beyond gross because Stiles had been a snotty mess.

"You've done some seriously messed up shit, Stilinski but this right here," Jackson shook his head. "I don't even know what else to say."

"Well, that's a blessing," A voice piped up from the couch. "Maybe if you shut your yammering trap, Stiles will have a chance to explain everything."

Jackson's face twisted into a sneer. "Screw you, Reyes."

"You wish," Erica shot back, crossing one shapely leg over her knee, purposefully giving him a glimpse of her black lace panties.

"I wouldn't touch a Derek Hale cast-off with a ten foot pole," Jackson informed her nastily. "Sloppy seconds aren't _my_ style," he added, sending a meaningful smirk at Boyd.

A dangerous growl of displeasure erupted from Boyd's throat. Erica clamped a hand on his knee when he made to rise.

"Don't," she requested quietly. "Everyone knows that Derek and I never did the dirty."

Jackson scoffed before saying snidely, "It wasn't for lack of trying on your part though, was it? You don't have a problem with him coming back here because your cunt has a yen for that deserting bastard."

This time both Erica and Isaac had to hold Boyd back.

"Shut the hell up, Jackson," Stiles intervened harshly. "Enough!"

Jackson turned on Stiles, demanding angrily, " _Who_ the fuck died and made you boss?"

The slap cracked like a whip throughout the room. Lydia's chest was heaving rapidly while her heart pounded out a fast, hard beat of fury and distress. Jackson looked as stunned as the rest of the group felt. There was confusion and hurt in both his face and scent as he reached up to rub the red, stinging patch of skin.

Lips trembling, Lydia spoke harshly and succinctly, " _Scott_ died and made him boss, that's who. He had his reasons for passing the Alpha-hood onto Stiles. Instead of indulging in your petty jealousy because it wasn't you Scott chose; you should be showing your new Alpha the respect he deserves. And you will from here on in, Jackson or, so help me god, I'll rip out your throat myself."

Stiles' mouth fell open in shock. Lydia hadn't been silently stewing because of _him_! It was Jackson that all those hostile, unspoken words and feelings he'd felt coming from her was geared toward! Well, hell this was unexpected. Lydia generally thought he was a spastic kid with no real ability to be of service to the Pack; at least, that's the impression Stiles tended to get from her.

"You wouldn't," Jackson mumbled, still reeling from Lydia's actions.

"I would," Lydia calmly countered, and Jackson's face fell.

Lydia's gaze softened, then she added, "I do love you, Jackson, you know that, but you need to stop acting like a rebuffed, silly school girl. As Pack members, we have a duty to our Alpha. If we don't stick together and use our bond with each other _and_ Stiles, someone else is going to come to Beacon Hills and tear us all apart; metaphorically _and_ literally. Let's not help them along."

"She's right."

Every head swiveled toward the man standing in the open doorway. A multitude of reactions followed. Isaac let out a pitiful whine before breaking the speed of light barrier, reaching Derek in mere seconds and engulfing him in a strangle-hold. He smiled softly into the crook of Isaac's neck, letting the young Beta rub his face and head on any exposed skin that he could find of Derek's.

Boyd was grinning from ear-to-ear which was downright freaky because in all the time that Stiles had known him, he'd never seen that many teeth. Well, he wasn't going to count the times he'd seen werewolf teeth because that didn't equate into smiling. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone; replaced by a more stoic expression.

"This is an interesting turn off events," Boyd's voice boomed as he rose from the couch and moved at a much slower pace than Isaac had employed until he was just beyond the reach of Derek's out-stretched hand.

Stiles held his breath. Would Boyd acknowledge Derek's gesture of friendship, his peace offering? Several seconds passed in which Boyd did nothing but stare searchingly into the older Alpha's eyes. He must have been okay with what he saw there because, after a few more agonizing seconds, Boyd clasped Derek's hand tightly and gave it a warm shake.

"It's good to see you, man."

Derek nodded slightly and replied with a sincerity all the wolves felt, "You too."

Stiles let his breath out slowly; this was going well. He must have jinxed it with that thought, because out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of blonde streak passed him. Erica. And she was _not_ a happy camper. She ripped Isaac away from Derek, practically throwing him at Boyd who caught the boy before the momentum sent them both crashing to the floor.

"Y… you motherfucker," she yelled, bombarding Derek's chest with hard hits from her clenched fists. She pounded and pounded; throwing punch after punch and Derek stood there and took it. "How could _you_?! How could you," she cried again, still whaling on him.

"I'm sorry," Derek murmured into her hair as he folded her still fighting form against his chest.

Stiles was pretty certain that those two words were going to become Derek Hale's personal mantra well into the next few months, if not years. He stared silently at the touchingly sad scene with an aching tightness in his chest, and glanced over at Lydia and Jackson who were also watching Derek and Erica. Jackson had his arms crossed over his chest, wrestling between aggrieved anger and reluctant relief. As for Lydia, she was exuding something strange. Stiles frowned, and caught her eye.

Arching one perfectly groomed auburn brow, Lydia did something that the Stiles of three years or so ago would have killed for. She winked and then totally short-circuited his brain by blowing him a kiss. As she smiled with saccharine sweetness, Stiles became aware of what he was getting from her. She reeked of a sense of accomplishment and smug satisfaction. If Stiles were being honest with himself, he'd have to admit that it was by far scarier than anything he'd experienced in regard to Lydia to date.

"We lost _you_! Then we lost _Scott_ ," Erica wailed against Derek's Henley.

And boy, Stiles was feeling sorry for that shirt because between Stiles' nasal mucus and Erica's melting make-up, it was turning into an unsightly, unsalvageable mess.

"I'm so glad you're back," she sobbed while clutching at him desperately.

"Yes," Lydia agreed. "It's about time too. We're all going to need your expertise and guidance. Especially Stiles."

"Hey," Stiles objected, the picture of wounded pride. "I can handle myself, thank you very much."

"You're making strides with your magic that much is true," Lydia agreed before tacking on, "But, we've yet to figure out this Alpha situation. Especially when you take into consideration the fact that you weren't bitten before Scott…," she swallowed; eyes suspiciously bright. "When Scott… didn't make it."

Setting Erica gently away, Derek asked, "How _did_ Stiles become Alpha? When Chris phoned, he didn't go into details. He basically said I needed to get back here."

"Allison's dad contacted you," Stiles asked, confused. Derek nodded in the affirmative. "Why?"

"It's pretty clear that we're way farther up Shit's Creek without a paddle than we initially thought," Jackson snapped, sounding disgusted with his lack of deductive abilities. "That's the only reason an Argent would contact _him_. The Hales and Argents have a nasty history with rivers of bad blood running between them."

"It's no secret that there's little love lost between us," Derek conceded, moving to stand next to Stiles. "But, Chris and I have managed to develop a distant form of respect for each other."

" _He_ knew how to reach you," Isaac accused in a low voice. "Did Allison know too?"

"No," Derek assured him gently, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a conciliatory squeeze. "I needed a contact here in Beacon Hills and Chris was the logical choice given that none of you would have thought I'd keep in touch with him."

Lydia broke the suddenly oppressive silence with a crisply spoken, "That's all behind us now. Derek's back, and from here on in, that's what we need to focus on."

Derek tossed a grateful look Lydia's way, before saying, "I've given none of you have any reason to put your trust in me again. If you want me to leave, I will. Braeden and I will pack up and head out of town immediately, if that's what you all want."

"You brought that bitch _back_ with you?!" Erica was almost cross-eyed with incredulity. "How are you two still together? What's up with that?! It's been over a year, Derek! I thought you'd screw her for awhile and then ditch her sorry ass!"

Derek's lips compressed tightly while his impressive brows lowered into a deep frown. He was angry; all of them knew it. If Braeden had been with Derek all this time, then their relationship must be serious and naturally Derek wouldn't take too kindly to someone giving him a hard time about her.

Still, Stiles got where Erica was coming from and felt a wave of sympathy for her. Braeden had been the type of girl that had been the bane of Erica's entire school days existence. Stiles, like Erica, had been privy to unpleasant behavior during his stint through high school at the hands of the beautiful bitches and the jackass jocks too. He supposed it was normal for Erica (and him) to still carry those particular scars.

Erica might be what every man considered a voluptuous blond bombshell now – if you disregarded the massive amount of make-up drying in less than attractive black streaks on her striking features – but that still didn't erase the inferiority complex that went along with being relentlessly bullied and harassed.

One of the reasons Erica and Boyd had clicked so well, was because before her werewolf transformation, he hadn't been one of those dicks laughing and torturing her. Sure, he'd known who she was, but had left her in peace. Once, he'd even come to her rescue although most wouldn't have noticed; it had been a relatively small thing. Erica _had_ noticed because she'd noticed the least bit of compassion sent her way; she received so little of it. It made Stiles ashamed, especially after she'd informed him of her now long-gone crush.

Boyd's palm moved rhythmically up and down the smooth skin of Erica's arm in a soothing gesture. She curled closer into his embrace, resting her head on his barrel-like chest with a contented sigh. A Mate's touch was a balm to the soul, and it was clearly working its magic on her. Stiles could feel her resentment uncoiling and relaxing its vice-like grip. Yep, Boyd and Erica were perfect for each other.

Stiles felt compelled to say something, _anything_ is Derek's defense even though Braeden was far from his favorite person either. She hadn't taken the trouble to hide her disdain for Stiles and his abilities (or lack thereof in her opinion) a year or so ago right before she'd high-tailed it outta town, and he doubted that opinion had changed any.

"It really isn't our business who Derek associates with outside of the Pack," Stiles said quietly. "Let's get back on topic."

"Good idea," Lydia immediately agreed, while Erica sent him a glare that spoke of betrayal.

"Speaking of the Argents," Derek said, "where's Allison? Isn't she still part of the Pack?"

"Dude," Jackson snorted, "You've been so far out of the loop that it's almost hysterical." Taking a seat and pulling Lydia onto his lap, he continued, "Ever since Scott bit the big one, (and yeah, way to be compassionate there, dick Stiles thought) Allison's dad has been keeping her a virtual prisoner in her own home."

"That's not all together true," Isaac huffed. "Allison's kinda a mess and right now and she's not ready to be here, or see us, because of Scott."

"You know an awful lot there, Lahey," Jackson snickered. "I wonder why that is?"

Isaac blushed and stammered uncomfortably, "Me and Allison text and stuff." The poor guy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, keeping his head down; avoiding eye contact with everyone while shifting awkwardly from side-to-side.

Stiles wasn't surprised. Even as a normal human, he'd picked up on some strange vibes between his best friend, Allison and Isaac. He hadn't questioned Scott because, honestly, he wasn't sure if he was prepared to hear what his friend might have had to say. There was a helluva difference between listening to Scott wax poet about Allison and _their_ sex life versus a possible ménage-a-trois. Um yeah, _so_ not ready, like _ever_!

Clearing his throat, Stiles came to Isaac's rescue by saying, "It's good someone's able to stay in touch with Ally."

Isaac's eyes briefly flicked to his as if testing the truth of his statement. Stiles gifted the guy with a small, understanding smile which he hesitantly returned.

"You're doing a good thing, Isaac." The guy practically preened under Lydia's praise. "She's refusing my calls and hasn't answered any of my texts." Lydia didn't sound put out, she sounded pained by Ally's non-stop snub.

"All right, so basically the entire Pack is here," Derek remarked casually. "And, Isaac can keep us all in the loop with the goings-on of Allison while he keeps her informed of what's happening here."

"Hold up there, pal," Jackson threw out obstinately, and Stiles fought hard to not roll his eyes. "None of us has actually said that you're back in, so don't start taking charge and throwing your Alpha-ness around like you used to."

Stiles was just about to call for a vote because he was pretty confident of what the outcome of that vote would be, when a mild voice from behind him said, "It would be to the benefit of us all if we forgo the vote, welcome Derek back, and get down to business."

Aaaaa-nd Deaton has entered the building. This time, Stiles didn't even bother to try to hide the rolling of his eyes.

"I think I may have a few answers concerning Stiles," Deaton informed them, face composed. "Some of you," he sent a placid glance Jackson's way, "might not care to have Derek back with us, but trust me when I say that he'll be integral to your new Alpha's survival as well as your own."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"I don't understand," Stiles said, giving Deaton a wary look. "You're saying I'm _not_ a werewolf?"

"That is correct," Deaton replied, without adding to his bombshell of a statement.

"No, no, no, not possible, dude," Stiles disagreed stridently. "My eyes flash red, I can smell things, hear things, I go all growly and I even cold-cocked Derek. I gave the guy a bloody nose for crying out loud!"

Jackson looked impressed. Now there's a first.

"There's _no_ way I could've done it without werewolf strength." Turning frantic eyes on the older Alpha, Stiles entreated desperately, "Back me up here, big guy."

Pursing his lips, Derek asked quietly, "Are you sure, because Stiles does have all the hallmarks of being one of us. He certainly lands a punch much harder than a normal human would. I also witnessed him displaying several attributes of being a werewolf."

Stiles looked gratified at Derek coming to his defense.

"We all have," Isaac reminded the vet. "I mean, he even _smells_ like pack and when he was human he didn't." Stiles huffed. "Sorry, man you know I don't mean anything by that, you know you've always been pack whether or not you've smelled like it."

Stiles look mollified, especially since Isaac clearly felt awful at the thought of hurting Stiles' feelings in any way.

"We've never actually seen him change," Lydia interjected, looking contemplative. "Everything we've witnessed has been mostly sense-related." In true Lydia form, she had everyone in the room captivated. "Other than the eyes, Stiles hasn't physically shown himself as a werewolf."

"Exactly," Deaton agreed. "Have any of you seen Stiles' face morph or seen him present claws since he's taken over as Alpha?"

The group looked at each other checking for confirmation and then all shook their heads in the negative.

"Huh," Jackson mused, "does that mean Stilinski isn't the Alpha?"

"Not all," Deaton disputed casually. Stiles almost laughed out loud at how crestfallen Jackson's hopeful expression became. "Stiles' case is … unusual."

" _How_ unusual," Derek asked sharply. "Do you have useful information for us or not?"

"Wait a sec," Stiles interrupted, glaring at Deaton, "How did you know I wasn't a werewolf, and more importantly, if you knew, why didn't you tell me?"

"I began to suspect there was something off when we resumed your lessons," Deaton informed him with a distinct gleam of excitement in his eyes. "Your spark had changed."

"Changed," Stiles mused. "In what way?"

"Therein lays the real question."

Deaton's blatant excitement was verging on creepy and Stiles noted he wasn't the only one in the room to think so.

"At times, I thought your spark had gotten bigger and brighter and then on other occasions it seemed the reverse was true. Since such a thing had never occurred before in our lessons it was only natural to assume that this change was caused because Scott had somehow managed to pass the status of Alpha onto you."

Spreading his hands wide, Deaton continued, "There hasn't been a case of Alpha status being given to someone without the bite that I can recall, but the supernatural has a way of surprising me and honestly I didn't think too much on it at the time. My mind had been kept relatively occupied with other things until quite recently and, on top of that, I've been busy with the animals. I haven't found anyone else to replace Scott.

Stiles felt the entire atmosphere in the room droop. Deaton might be a cryptic asshole, but he had genuinely cared about Scott and had done his damnedest to make sure that Scott didn't lose his humanity in the midst of all that went on in Beacon Hills. Stiles would always be grateful to the man for that at least, if nothing else.

"What I have uncovered could be nothing more than a myth, a legend, handed down from generation to generation with no basis in fact at all," Deaton informed them and it sounded suspiciously like the guy was trying to hedge his bets. "More research will need to be done."

"Well, that's helpful," Erica snapped, while twirling a curl between her fingers. "If Stiles isn't a werewolf, what is he?"

"I'm not sure," Deaton admitted. "Either something more or something less than what he was before Scott died."

Most of the faces in the room were frowning while Jackson just looked bored out of his skull.

"Look," Derek began, sounding irked, "Have you got something concrete to present right here and right now or not? You mentioned earlier that me being here was essential to Stiles' well-being or words to that effect."

"Perhaps I might have made it sound more dire than it actually is." Stiles snorted. "Until I know for sure what's happening, I'd rather err on the side of caution."

"I believe the big question on everyone's' mind is what do we have to do in order to figure this out? How can we help and is Stiles in any type of immediate danger?" Lydia's tone was mild but her expression told a whole different story.

The dinging of a cell phone caused everyone to turn Isaac's way. Flushing brightly, he fished his phone out of his pocket, glanced down at the text message, and turned and even brighter shade of red.

"It's Allison," he mumbled.

"Allison and Isaac sittin in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

Lydia slapped Jackson up alongside the head. "Leave him alone," she ordered. "Tell her I said, hi," she requested softly. "And that I miss her."

"I'm just gonna," Isaac muttered, motioning to the kitchen. "But, yeah, I'll tell her."

After Isaac escaped into the kitchen, Stiles turned on Jackson and snarled, "Why are you always giving him a hard time, huh? He's never done a damn thing to you and all you do is push and needle him. You need to stop!"

Jackson flung one leg over the arm of his chair and responded with a flippant, "Aw come on, I'm just yanking his chain a little. No harm, no foul."

Stiles wanted to slug that smug smile off of his face. Jackson knew exactly how much his taunting and teasing bothered Isaac yet he continued to do it. It was a dick move, but what had he really expected. We're talking Jackson here.

"Pack is family," Derek proclaimed pointedly. "Family doesn't intentionally set out to harm or hurt each other. We protect and comfort our own, which is what you should be doing for Isaac. It's what we all should be doing."

"You're one to talk," sneered Jackson. "Were you 'protecting' the 'family' when you left us all in the dust? When you took off in the dead of night and dropped off the face of the earth?"

A flash of pain crossed Derek's face, and then he calmly replied, "I had my reasons." Jackson scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not going into that with you, Jackson… with any of you."

Stiles made his way out into the kitchen where Isaac was now talking to Allison on his phone. He glanced up briefly when Stiles came into the room, then turned slightly to the side as he listened to whatever it was Allison was saying. Stiles could've easily heard their conversation but thought it best to give them some privacy. That, and the fact that it would've been rude and Stiles liked to think that he wasn't the sort to eavesdrop.

Grabbing a soda from the fridge, he headed out the back. He sat on the step, popped the cap, and threw it with amazing accuracy into the recyclable bin.

"Score! And the crowd goes wild!" He mimicked the sound of a bunch of fans going crazy, then took a sip of his soda and sighed.

"Wish you were here, Scotty. Your pal, Deaton is doing a really fantastic job of pissing me off. If you were here, you'd be all like… 'He'd tell us if there was anything really important to tell.' Or, 'Stiles, he's my friend and he's a good guy.' And my personal favorite, 'Quit being a dick, how many times has the guy saved our lives?'

Stiles rolled the bottle between his hands, he wasn't particularly thirsty, he just needed an excuse to get away and be by himself for awhile. He felt like they were going around in circles and getting absolutely nothing accomplished. Initially, he'd just wanted it to be the Pack meeting up with Derek and maybe working through some stuff and getting back on good terms. That had been the plan.

It hadn't worked out that way because Stiles had forgotten that Deaton was on the group texting for Pack members. Almost as soon as he'd sent the text, Deaton had replied and what was Stiles supposed to have done? He'd fought Scott tooth and nail on the adding of Deaton to the group text, but Scott fought back in Deaton's favor just as hard. Scott had used those dopey puppy dog eyes to his benefit far too many times, but Stiles still seemed incapable of calling him on it or denying him anything when he used 'em.

"Hey," Isaac whispered from behind him.

Stiles thumbed away the tears gathering in his eyes and answered back gruffly, "Hey."

"Can I sit with you," Isaac asked, clearly hesitant about disturbing Stiles.

"Sure," Stiles sniffed and scooted over to make room. "It's gonna be a tight fit."

"I don't mind," Isaac answered plopping down into the small vacant area.

Isaac might not mind it, but Stiles felt kinda weird being this close to another guy. Sure he and Scott often got close, but they'd been bros since grade school. Countless sleepovers had indoctrinated Stiles into sharing tight quarters and more often than not a single bed. So, yeah, it shouldn't feel weird having Isaac smashed up against him, but it did because he wasn't Scott.

"Sorry," the other boy murmured sheepishly. Isaac must have picked up on his discomfort which only made Stiles feel worse. "I can go," Isaac said beginning to rise.

"No," Stiles responded, grabbing Isaac by the arm. "You don't have to. It's just… I mean… I don't… I don't even know what I mean. I guess I'm not used to anyone but Scott being so in my space. Y'know?"

"Yeah," Isaac answered softly, "I sorta understand, but not completely. I didn't have the same type of relationship with him as you did." Isaac paused and gathering his courage continued, "My dad, he wasn't a nice person, don't know how much you know about it."

Stiles nodded. He had known a few things, but he hadn't known just how horrible Isaac's dad had been until Scott had filled him in. So, Isaac referring to his monster of a dad as – 'not a nice person' – was really underselling it in a major way.

Biting his lip, Isaac continued, "When Derek offered to turn me, I didn't hesitate, not even for a split second. I thought all my troubles would just go away once I had the strength to fight off my dad."

Isaac wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve and Stiles pretended not to notice, but the pain emanating from the kid was _huge_. What he must have endured at the hands of someone who was supposed to love and care for you unconditionally was so far out of the realm of reality for him; Stiles just couldn't put himself there.

"It didn't though," Isaac went on. "I… I didn't know what is was to feel safe until Scott." Isaac's voice broke and a wave of agony shot through Stiles; it was excruciating, and he was only feeling it second-hand.

"Scott knew, he knew how bad off I still was. How damaged and messed up, and scared all the time even though my dad was gone and there wasn't anything to be afraid of anymore."

Now, Isaac wasn't bothering to hide the fact that he was crying; the tears flowed freely and quietly. "When he became our Alpha, one of the first things he did was to make me tell him everything that had gone on with my dad. I didn't want to, and he said he hated to make me re-live it, but that once the wound was finally lanced and the infection was released, I'd start to heal."

Stiles felt his own eyes burn and well up because that was just so… Scott. Only Scott would find one of the most wounded souls in Beacon Hills, take him under his wing and try to nurse him back into being a whole person again. That was who Scott was; a selfless healer of the broken and the abused.

"He was right," Isaac's voice cracked, and Stiles didn't even bother trying to fight his own tears anymore. "He used to let me curl up against him because it made me feel safe; _he_ made me feel safe. We'd just lie next to each other for hours and talk about everything. Now he's… he's gone and I feel so lost and I miss him so much."

Isaac's sobs wracked his entire body; the kid sounded so god dammed _wrecked_. Stiles' heart wept for him right along with his eyes because it wasn't just about Scott anymore or about how much Stiles had lost. They'd _all_ lost Scott and he was beginning to understand that although Scott had been his best friend, that didn't in any way diminish how much the Pack had lost or how much they were suffering. Scott had been many things to many people and Stiles' pain wasn't any more important or intense than theirs. He realized that he wasn't alone in his grief, not anymore.

Pulling himself together as best as he could, Stiles told Isaac in a choked whisper, "I know I'm not Scott and I never will be." Stiles felt the other boys' breathing hitch as he tried to control his cries. "But, I'm here for you, buddy," Stiles promised as he placed his arm over Isaac's heaving shoulders. "It's gonna be okay, _we're_ gonna be okay," Stiles assured him while squeezing Isaac tightly against his side.

* * *

 **So this chapter was supposed to go a totally different direction than what it ended up going. It's fine because there is also a very good reason for all of the heartfelt conversations as you will all discover later, I just hadn't intended there to be any of that in this particular chapter. Sometimes you just gotta go where it takes you!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"What's the word," Braeden asked sharply as she watched Derek pull off his Henley and throw it into a corner of the motel room. She grimaced at the stains of mascara and what she could only guess was eye shadow. "I hope you're planning on ditching that shirt into the nearest dumpster. It looks as if five trashy prostitutes used it as washrag after a night of trolling the streets."

Derek had no intention of getting rid of that shirt. He had no plans on washing it anytime soon either. It carried the scent of at least three Pack members and it'd been a long time since he'd been able to revel in the Pack's comforting aroma. Braeden wasn't able to understand the significance or importance of such a thing but, for the first time in ages, he didn't feel so incomplete… so empty.

Derek enjoyed Braeden's company; otherwise they wouldn't still be together more than a year on, but there were things, as human, that were beyond her comprehension. He wouldn't categorize what they had as a relationship per se but it was as close as he'd gotten since Paige.

No way in hell was he counting Kate as a legitimate relationship. He'd been a young, needy fool and she'd been a master manipulator with a side-order of sociopath. He'd still been grieving Paige's loss when Kate had gotten her hooks into him, and he'd gone like an idiot lamb to the slaughter.

He should have turned to his family for the comfort he'd been craving after Paige's death, but guilt at what he had done to her held him back. Logically, he knew that it had been the bite that was slowly killing her, and what he'd done afterward had been a way to end her untenable agony. Although Derek's intentions had been merciful, and she had practically begged him to do it, he'd still taken an innocent life. No matter how much time had, or would pass, he'd still never find the wherewithal to forgive himself.

Without answering Braeden's question, Derek wandered into the bathroom, turning the shower on and twisting the dial to its hottest temperature. He was feeling grubby and tense, and the hot water would help to loosen up the tightness in his shoulders somewhat. He knew he could ask Braeden for a massage but that would inevitably lead to sex and he was far too mentally and emotionally exhausted for a romp in the sheets.

The woman in question came into the bathroom just as he was stripping off his jeans. Licking her lips, she swept her eyes over his form from head to foot, lingering on his groin area. If she was hoping for a physical reaction to her blatantly lascivious perusal she was in for a huge disappointment.

Ignoring the less than subtle 'let's get physical' vibes and the scent of her arousal, Derek said coolly, "It went as well as could be expected." Testing the water with his hand, he added, "They were angry and they were hurt; all of those feelings were justified. I have a tough road ahead earning back their trust, but I think the fact that they accepted me back after their initial hesitation is a very good sign. All-in-all, they were pleased to see me."

"Do you think it's wise to give them so much hope when eventually we'll be leaving again?" Crossing her arms over her middle, she asked sanguinely, "We _are_ leaving again, aren't we?"

Instead of responding to her query, Derek stepped underneath the steaming spray, sighing at how amazing the hard pound of hot water felt against his skin and muscles.

Derek heard Braeden easily, as he was meant to, when she muttered quietly, "Dammit, Derek! We _will_ be discussing this further as soon as you're finished!" She stomped out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Derek wasn't setting out to hurt her. He enjoyed her company; she was smart, funny and sexy as hell. He was actually pretty surprised that she'd stayed with him as long as she had. Braeden hadn't seemed the type to be hankering after something permanent, especially with him.

Other than going out on the occasional mercenary mission, she'd stayed firmly by his side. Her continued presence had been unexpected, but welcome. He was almost ashamed to admit that without her, he'd be extremely lonely; werewolves weren't meant to live in solitude.

He lathered up the unscented shampoo, scrubbing at his hair while thinking on the meeting at Stiles' house. Deaton believed that Stiles wasn't a werewolf; it still boggled his mind. In just about every aspect, a werewolf is exactly how the young Alpha presented. The retired emissary hadn't had many answers and he'd seemed disturbingly and uncharacteristically animated at the mystery that was now Stiles Stilinski.

His own thoughts on the meeting were not positive. It had been very disjointed with people barely paying attention after Deaton's slight contribution, while several Pack members wandered in and out, including Stiles. He hadn't taken charge as he should have and Derek hadn't the heart, at that time, to point out his leadership deficiencies. It _would_ need to be addressed, but Derek would do it privately; there was no need to make the guy feel any more inadequate than he clearly already did.

In this area, and many more, Derek could be of valuable assistance. Deaton hadn't seemed too disturbed by the Packs lackadaisical attitude, and it left Derek with the impression that there hadn't been many Pack meetings since Scott's death, and that would need to be remedied. Especially since Deaton was planning on reaching out to a Pack in Arizona where the myth he'd been trying to explain had originated.

It wouldn't hurt for Stiles to get on top of checking into legends and such either. Maybe he'd find something of use on-line or in the library archives. Derek was going to mention it to the young man at his next opportunity. He would be walking a delicate line with Stiles; the boy was sensitive and might not take too well to criticism or at being asked – not ordered – to look into pertinent myths and legends. Still, he couldn't count Stiles' possibly hurt feelings into this equation, there was too much at stake.

Lydia had been absolutely on the mark. Other Alphas _would_ come with their Packs to see for themselves if Stiles could hold his own as well as the territory. There would also be Alphas who would merely listen to the gossip and, if they liked what they were hearing, they'd just show up for a fight to claim the land. They wouldn't even follow the conventional act of a parlay or the feeling-out of a situation before attacking.

The Pack needed to unite and become strong; they would have to prove that they could easily dispatch any on-comers. At first, they might even have to be brutal; show they're a force to be reckoned with and send anyone who covets their territory back with their tails between their beaten asses.

Honestly, Derek was surprised that they'd been left alone for as long as they have been. Perhaps Deaton's presence was keeping potential troublemakers at bay. He might not have been the Hale emissary for quite a number of years, but Deaton's reputation as a Druid was lengthy and impressive. Still, Derek doubted that such a thing would protect the Pack of Beacon Hills for much longer.

Using one of the scratchy towels the motel offered, Derek briefly dried himself then wrapped another around his middle. Braeden was pacing the floor in agitation when he returned. He tried not to let her apparent displeasure affect him, but it was difficult because he valued her opinion on a multitude of subjects. He had to remind himself that, in the ways of werewolves, she wasn't in the know.

He was rifling through his duffle for a change of clothes when she said, much more softly than he was expecting given the circumstances and her obvious annoyance, "You know we can't stay."

Sitting on the bed, Derek replied, "I can't leave them, Braeden. Not again. They need me, and if I go, the chances of another Pack coming now that Scott is gone are inevitable. There's no way I can knowingly walk away with the possibility of their deaths on my conscience."

"I understand that Derek, I honestly do, but nothing's changed," she informed him carefully. "Stay, if you must, to help educate Stiles in the ways of being an effective Alpha. Afterward, we have to go."

Just as calmly and softly as Braeden had been, Derek answered, "I think it'll be different with Stiles."

Braeden's eyes widened before she exclaimed in exasperation, "How the hell could it be any different with him?! It's exactly the same circumstances as Scott!"

Jumping up, Derek explained excitedly, "No, it isn't!" Striding forward, he grabbed Braeden by the shoulders, his face so hopeful that it hurt her heart. "Deaton doesn't think Stiles is a werewolf! The circumstances aren't the same _at_ all!"

For a second, Braeden was at a loss for words, and then she asked, "What the hell does Deaton think he is then?"

Releasing her, Derek stepped back, the excitement leeching from his face as fast as it had come. "He isn't sure."

Running a hand through his damp hair, Derek added, "He thinks a Pack in Arizona might have answers. They have some sort of myth or legend that might help to shed some light on this. It worries me, to feed another Pack the information that we're dealing with something unknown. It could imply weakness, and we can't afford to look weak."

Sounding irritated, Braeden exclaimed, "So Stiles is an anomaly, that doesn't mean the end result won't be the same if you stay. It's a chance not worth taking unless you have your own plans for Beacon Hills."

Derek looked so completely flummoxed at the very notion; it convinced Braeden that she was so off the mark that it was laughable. She was very disappointed by his reaction because if Derek _did_ have his own agenda, it would have made her life much easier, and she wouldn't have to fear the outcome if Derek refused to leave Beacon Hills for good.

She wished she could just walk away from him like she'd been able to do with other men in the past. But that wasn't an option because she _wanted_ to be with Derek. Sure, there were occasions when she missed constantly being on the move, and she sometimes longed for alone time, but when those feelings overwhelmed her she headed off on a job. Derek never minded, maybe he needed some space too; it was one of the things that made their relationship work.

The man, who she thought might be someone she could actually fall in love with, was pulling on an indigo colored T-shirt; it brought out the blue in his stunning mercurial eyes. He wasn't the handsomest man she'd ever taken as a lover – which wasn't to say he wasn't outstandingly good-looking – but he was the most dynamic. He was a crazy combination of animalistic passion and wary gentleness; it was a strange but intoxicating mix.

Dropping his towel, Derek put on a faded pair of jeans, once again foregoing underwear. White socks with black sneakers over top, completed his outfit; Derek wasn't one to take much effort in his appearance. Not that it mattered. She'd seen him covered in mud and grime, and his good looks still managed to seep through.

"You're determined to do this, aren't you?" Braeden phrased it as a question, but they both knew it wasn't one.

Fixing her with those fabulous eyes of his, Derek answered simply, "Yes."

Dropping her chin to her chest, Braeden breathed out a tired and resigned, "Dammit."

Derek lifted her face with the tip of one finger and promised with grim sincerity, "If it _does_ turn out to be the same as with Scott, we'll leave."

She searched has features and found nothing but the truth reflecting back, and with a satisfied nod, mumbled, "Okay."

Smiling, Derek placed his hands on Braeden's hips, drawing her close while leaning down to kiss her softly but with a thoroughness that had her moaning and wriggling wantonly against the strong planes of his body. His hands slid lower, cupping her ass, molding her more firmly against the line of his thickening cock.

Braeden's fingers dove into the slightly damp strands of his hair, nails scratching into his scalp. Derek gasped, and Braeden smirked against his lips. _Vixen_ , Derek thought while mouthing hungrily at the smooth, sweet-smelling skin of her neck. He loved it when she used her nails, and she knew it.

"Bed. Now," she gasped, pulling sharply on the black locks she still held captive.

Biting down gently on the lobe of her ear, Derek grunted in approval; hiking her up until long, lean legs wrapped around his hips. He let out a gruff moan of need as she reached between their bodies and pressed her palm against his fully hard cock; squeezing and rubbing until he was almost insane with lust.

Growling, Derek twisted and all but threw Braeden onto the bed, following her down until he was spread out over top of her. He reared back, wanting to get a good look, the smell of her musky arousal invading his nostrils and sending his senses reeling. She was an amazing sight to behold; wide eyes blown black with carnality, lips a plush ruby red from his nibbling kisses; magnificent breasts straining against the confines of her small crop top.

Stretching languidly, she gave him a beckoning half-smile before reaching up and winding her arms around his neck. He went willingly into her grasping embrace, sliding one hand up her thigh, fingers sliding easily past the lace of her panties.

"Oh, God," she gasped when he lightly brushed her quivering folds. This time _he_ smirked, his tongue licking a path from the deep crevice between her heaving breasts to the delicate hollow of her throat; swirling and swiping until she let out of groan of protest.

"Stop teasing," she demanded huskily, then let out a cry as he finally made his way into her warm slickness, crooking a finger and hitting the small bundle of nerves hidden there. "Jesus," she cried, frantically clawing at his shirt; muttering inconsequential nonsense as she violently writhed and rutted beneath him.

Derek sealed his lips over Braeden's, cutting off her obscene cries, snaking his tongue around hers, coaxing it into his mouth so he could suck and pull just how he knew she liked. She followed suite, their tongues tangling in a wild dance of taste and texture.

"I need," she gasped as she pulled her mouth messily from his, "I need _you_. Oh, God get these off!" She scrambled for the button on the front of his jeans.

Braeden's nimble fingers had is jeans popped open and his zipper almost completely lowered when a pounding on the door momentarily stilled her actions.

"Ignore it," she whispered frantically, while trying to push the back of his jeans down past his thighs. "They'll go away."

"It could be one of the Pack," Derek whispered back, trying to shut out the way Braeden's fingertips were gliding tantalizingly over the globes of his ass.

"They might need me. I c…can't," he stuttered when those fingers dipped between the crease and ghosted over the tight, pink muscle and pressed lightly.

"Come on, baby," Braeden crooned throatily, working the tip of one finger until it made its way past the slightly unyielding hole.

"Oh, God," Derek groaned, his head falling limply against her collarbone.

Taking advantage of his nearly comatose state, Braeden twisted abruptly, rolling Derek onto his back, yanking at his jeans until they hung loosely from one foot. She whipped her top over her head while unclipping the front clasp of her bra. Beautifully full, rich mocha breasts fell forward and Derek thought he'd never seen a more glorious sight.

"Derek Hale," a voice screamed on the other side of the motel room door, followed by more pounding. "I _know_ you're in there!"

"What the royal fuck," Braeden grumbled irately. Derek shut his eyes and sighed.

"Go hide in the bathroom," he ordered, while tossing a scrap of material at her.

Catching it, she asked, "Are you _serious_?" She didn't bother turning it right-side out before tugging it over her head.

"Yes, Braeden, I am," he snarled, partly angry because they were interrupted and partly angry because he'd let things go so far. A kiss of thanks had been what he'd intended, but it had gone massively awry; Braeden had that affect on him.

"Fine," she shot back, dark eyes flashing angrily as she swept regally out of the room.

There was no way he was going to be able to will away this hard-on, so he settled for doing his best to cover it up with a set of loose sweatpants. There was more irate pounding and Derek decided not to bother with a shirt before going to answer it because it sounded as if they were going to break down the door.

Whipping it open, Derek was surprised to see a pretty brunette with dimples standing in the doorway.

"Alli…"

And, for the second time that day, Derek found himself with a bloody nose.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Derek staggered back, a cloud of agony spreading out from the middle of his face. Clutching his nose, he mumbled through his hand, "Holy shi…"

That's when the second blow struck. He felt the bones in his left cheekbone shatter and let out a sharp cry before falling to his knees. He couldn't decide which was more important, trying to stem the flow of blood from his broken nose or cradling his messed up cheek. This conundrum was solved for him when an explosion of absolutely _excruciating_ pain swallowed his knee; not only did he feel the patella crack in several places, but Derek also knew that it was now haphazardly dislocated. He lost traction and fell forward, crying out as he hit his already wrecked nose on the carpet.

Derek put his hands up in an effort to ward of any further clobbering all the while knowing that he had to regain his footing. Not only were his wounds hurting big time, they were _burning_ like a motherfucker! His head swam and for a second, he thought he might actually pass out. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, but everything hurt so bad that he could barely move. What the hell was happening?

Through the distant roaring in his ears, Derek could hear screaming all around him; indiscernible and loud, _really_ loud. The type that says – ouch, that's hurting; stop before my ears start to bleed like my nose – loud.

"For the love of god, shut up," Derek ground out through gritted teeth.

"It's okay, Derek," Braeden crooned, wringing a soaked towel over his face. The water felt refreshing and cool but ultimately did little to ease his pain. "Hey…"

There was the sound of a small scuffle, and then someone else knelt next to him, taking one of his hands firmly in their grip. In a split second, Derek began to feel some relief. Not a lot, but some, and some was way better than nothing at all. The ringing in his ears began to diminish only to be replaced by some serious pain as he felt his knee cap being shoved back into its natural place and position.

"Sorry, big guy," a male voice uttered. "Had to be done, your bones were starting to heal and I can't have you walking around anymore half-cocked than you already do."

Derek found it in him to chuckle, before saying, "You're an ass, Stiles."

"See there," Stiles exclaimed in satisfaction to the other occupants of the room, "He's gonna be fine. He's already back to his insulting, insufferable self."

"Whoa there, dude," Stiles remarked, placing a hand on Derek's shoulder, holding him in place when he made to rise. "Not so fast, quick-draw. I'm doing the best I can by leeching your pain, but we're gonna have to flush your open wounds with the antidote."

"Antidote," Derek questioned, confused but allowing himself to be gently pushed back into a lying position. His knee was still smarting, but the majority of the debilitating pain had receded.

"Hand it over," Stiles demanded. "Now," he barked out when the antidote didn't miraculously appear in his hand post-haste.

Derek doesn't think he's ever heard him sound so stern, but those thoughts exited his brain the minute Stiles' hands began rubbing something onto the area of his nose and cheek, and it was absolute bliss!

Derek's vision finally cleared and he was able to see the image of Stiles intently running his eyes over his face. "That's better," he remarked, sounding satisfied. Grinning, he added, "That's quite a shiner you got going on there, buddy."

Stiles softly circled the skin underneath his eyebrow, and Derek let out a contented breath because it felt so fucking amazing. Turning his head slightly, he nuzzled the warm palm of the young Alpha's hand. It was only when Stiles' eyes widened and his mouth formed a small O that Derek realized what he was doing. He tried not to blush, he really did, but he still felt the hot color climbing his face. Even so, Derek steadfastly refused to unlock his gaze from Stiles' stunned expression. He had no real need to be embarrassed; werewolves often comforted each other in such a fashion; yet here he was feeling slightly embarrassed anyway.

Derek's own eyes dramatically enlarged when Stiles began to tentatively brush his thumb lightly over the stubble riding high on his cheek. Licking his lips, the boy resolutely continued his ministrations while holding Derek captive with his own intensely awkward, topaz gaze. It was the most relaxed and comfortable (and odd!) that Derek had felt in _years_ ; a part of him never wanted it to end.

A forced cough broke whatever it was that Stiles and Derek had going on between them. Flushing wildly, the younger man pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned. Clearing his throat, Stiles asked, voice cracking, "Ready to get up there, big guy?"

Derek ran a shaky hand along the slight sheen of sweat on the back of his neck as he moved to a sitting position and muttered, "Uh, yeah. Thanks, Stiles."

Avoiding looking in Derek's direction, the younger Alpha tried to get things back on an even-keel by exclaiming with fake joviality, "No problem, dude. Anytime. It's what we do, right?"

"Yeah," proclaimed a voice laced with sarcasm, "It's what you do, but I didn't think feeling someone up was part of the healing process."

Derek frowned at Braeden before coming to Stiles' defense, "He did what any other werewolf would've done."

Arching a disbelieving brow, Braeden drawled, " _Really_? I've yet to see it done in quite that fashion."

Disturbed by her unnecessary cattiness, Derek shot out sharply as he finally got to his feet, "If you were a werewolf, you'd understand. But you're not, so stop commenting on something you know absolutely _nothing_ about!"

The momentary flash of hurt which crossed Braeden's features should have bothered Derek much more than it actually did. Recovering quickly, she set her mouth into a grim line before saying casually, "I thought Stiles _wasn't_ a werewolf."

"We don't know what I am… yet" Stiles answered, running an apprehensive glance at Braeden's pissed off countenance.

She was hot – insanely so – but she sure could get nasty; not to mention be downright scary. Both of those attributes tended to be a _huge_ turn-off for Stiles. Well, except for Lydia. She was the scariest woman he knew and that hadn't turned Stiles off in the slightest. To this day, he still had a small corner of his heart completely and utterly devoted to the strawberry-blonde. First loves had a way of doing that; reciprocated or not. Braeden, on the other hand, was not someone Stiles could ever imagine securing a place – small or otherwise – in his heart or anyone else' for that matter.

Not that she'd deign to even take the time to look twice in Stiles' direction or _ever_ for that matter. He was gonna hazard a guess that Derek kept her around for more than just the sex. The female mercenary was probably aces at watching the older Alpha's back in dire circumstances. Yep, she was more than capable of keeping Derek well covered in both those areas of expertise. Stiles couldn't blame the other guy in the least for keeping company with her, although she hadn't ever been anything but a snarly bitch to him the entire time Stiles had known her.

Derek opened his mouth to say something, anything, to diffuse this strange situation when he heard it; soft, heart-broken cries of distress. It caused him to finally give his full attention to other people in the room. Allison had her face pressed into the folds of Isaac's jacket. The boys' normally pacific expression was set into a dark scowl which was aimed directly at him.

"Allison," Derek breathed out compassionately, brows lowering in a silent question.

Isaac's protective stance relaxed slightly after feeling and smelling the genuine pity and sadness coming from Derek.

"She didn't mean it," the young Beta explained, rubbing soothing circles between Allison's shoulder blades. When Derek's expression grew more perplexed, Isaac explained further, "Hitting you like that; she didn't mean it, not really."

"The hell I didn't," Allison vehemently denied, pushing away from Isaac. "If you all hadn't stopped me, I'd still be pounding his ass into the ground!"

It broke something inside of Derek to see Allison looking so dreadful. She was thinner than he remembered; her pretty features were pale, pinched, and drawn. Blue shadows looked permanently etched under red-rimmed, tragic dark eyes. The strong, hearty, and fearless young woman Derek had left behind seemed to have been replaced by this fragile, heart-rending creature.

"That's it Ally, get nice and worked up," Stiles encouraged with a grin. At Derek's flummoxed, are-you- _crazy_ glare, Stiles proceeded to explain, "You don't even know, man. I mean this is the most alive I've seen Allison in ages. It's great seeing the old fire stirring up inside her again. Good on you, Derek."

The young woman turned her ire on Stiles. "Why the hell did you stop me?!"

"Ally," he began sounding both conciliatory and understanding, "I get it, I do. I did pretty much the same thing, and I do think you deserved to get a little of your own back. If you hadn't been on the brink of murdering the guy, I would've let you go to town on him but we kinda need him." Cocking his head to the side, Stiles added, "I'm cool with the maiming. Killing? Not so much."

Allison's face fell and the look of betrayal geared at Stiles had him squirming in discomfort. Pointing a finger at Derek, she yelled, "He left us, Stiles! Scott would probably be alive if he'd still been here! How can you let that go?!"

"I haven't," Stiles assured her gravely, "But, he's as devastated as the rest of us." Allison snorted in disbelief. "He _is_. Back me up here, Isaac."

Isaac clearly didn't want to get on Allison's bad side. Biting his lip, he shifted from side-to-side trying not to look anyone for too long, especially Allison.

"Isaac," Stiles growled, eyes glowing red.

The boy let out a startled yelp before nodding in agreement, resignedly confirming his Alpha's words by saying, "It's true."

"Not that I condone what you did to Derek," Braeden cut in. "But I have to ask. Where did you get these fabulous little items?"

Dangling from Braeden's fingers were what looked to be _brass knuckles_! Derek shook his head in amazed wonderment. What the fucking hell?!

"Oh, those are my own personal invention," Stiles proudly proclaimed. "Cool, aren't they?"

"Very," she agreed although her tone implied that Stiles could in no way come up with such a thing. Turning them over, she asked, "They're silver, aren't they?"

Stiles nodded, looking pretty damned pleased with himself and then added, "There's wolfsbane imbedded in the silver, so they pack quite an extra wallop. Pretty brilliant, huh?"

Well, no wonder those punches had a hurt like a bitch. Derek ruefully rubbed his healing cheek, admiring Stiles' initiative and ability to devise such an innovative weapon. Although he doubted they were meant to be used against one of their own.

Echoing Derek's thoughts, Stiles said, "Coarse they aren't meant to be used against any of us." Throwing an apologetic glance at Derek, he tacked on, "Ally kinda filched 'em from my room when she heard you were back. I didn't know until Isaac called me."

Braeden curled her fingers around the silver knuckles, eyeing them with evident avarice.

"Thanks a lot for that, asshole," Allison bit out waspishly.

Looking sheepish, Isaac shrugged and said, "You were pretty outta control on the ride over. I was pretty sure Derek wouldn't hurt you, but I questioned whether or not you'd try killing the guy. I didn't think Stiles would be on board with that."

"Damn straight I wouldn't," Stiles heartily agreed. Derek felt an unfamiliar warmth unfurl in his chest. "We need this jerk." That warm feeling immediately died a quick death. "Deaton said the Pack from Arizona does have some info for us, but they plan on coming in person within the next few weeks. Derek here can hone our skills on werewolf etiquette and maybe he knows them and can give us the inside scoop."

That announcement did not sit well with Derek. "I don't like it," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "There's usually one of three reasons a Pack enters another's' territory."

"Do tell," Stiles ordered, narrowed amber eyes briefly flickering red.

"Another Pack can petition to come into another's territory to parlay a treaty between the two when a threat to one or both emerges which might be too big for them to handle on their own. So, they ask help from another Pack in order that theirs won't get decimated. Basically, they're asking for protection in exchange for something else." Derek paused thoughtfully. "Only an emissary can give permission – with the Alpha's consent – for them to come into the territory."

"Oh," a flustered Stiles commented. Then, looking remarkably uncomfortable, he said slowly, "I did ask Deaton to check into this and when he told me the Arizona Pack wanted to come themselves to explain what they knew, I did sorta say, okay."

Derek's face set into harsh lines, eyes taking on a blazing crimson hue while simultaneously releasing a wicked rumbling growl from the depths of his chest. Derek appeared _way_ beyond pissed! Stiles flinched back slightly; he'd forgotten how frightening and forbidding the older Alpha could be. Stiles felt the sudden urge to protect his noggin just in case Derek decided to bounce it off of a hard surface.

Sensing Stiles' apprehension, Derek snarled, "I'm not mad at _you_ , even if you are an idiot. Deaton does _not_ have the power to give permission for such a thing. I think it's time to go see him and have this out."

Voice trembling, Isaac asked, "You're not gonna rip his throat out, are you?"

Deadly serious, Derek replied, "It's a very viable possibility."

"Uh, yeah… no can do, big guy," Stiles laughed nervously. "He's the only one who can help me with my magic, and it's been kinda unpredictable lately. So, Deaton's gotta stay on the alive and kicking list."

Taking in Derek's stern glare, Stiles put his hands out in a helpless gesture, saying, "Hey, he's not my favorite Druid either, but what ya gonna do? We have to make do with what we have and what we have is Deaton."

Rolling his eyes, Derek agreed, "Okay, you have a point, but we _are_ going to ream his ass out from here to Timbuktu."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever you want, dude," Stiles agreed good-naturedly, nodding his head vigorously. "We're gonna release a serious can of serious whoop-ass on his seriously unsuspecting bald head. I get it. Seriously."

Derek let out a beleaguered sigh; rolling his eyes in exasperation. He was trying to not find Stiles' antics amusing, but damn it was hard. This was serious! Derek knew that, so it was woefully out of place this strange but strong desire to laugh. It could be that he hadn't been around too many goofy associates during his yearlong sojourn, so Stiles' brand of humor is probably something that he'd have to get used to all over again.

"Any chance you'd be willing to sell these lovely trinkets," Braeden asked while Isaac passed his former Alpha his T-shirt.

The solid mass of Derek's abdominal muscles – which were unfairly hot – rippled as he inched the blue cloth down to cover his torso. The older man must have sensed something because he zeroed in on Stiles' unwavering attention, casting him a curious frown as he smoothed out the wrinkles of his shirt with his palm of his hand.

"Dude, you been working out," Stiles asked, either ignoring the woman or too focused on Derek that he'd missed Braeden's question altogether.

Isaac snickered, Allison snorted, and Braeden watched incredulously as Derek stammered like a pleased though flustered school girl, "Well, uh yeah… some." Self-consciously, he added, "I mean, yeah it's difficult to keep in shape, but I manage." Derek cringed. What the hell was wrong with him?!

Waving his hand, Stiles involuntarily remarked, "Totally shows… um, good job."

Holy crap! What the hell was he doing? Admiring Derek's physique?! Commenting on it?! Since when had he'd begun to notice how ripped and toned some other guys' body was? Weird.

"Ooo-kay," Braeden interrupted a shade more loudly than she'd intended. Both Derek and Stiles noticeably started out of their silent stare-fest. "I'd like to purchase these, Stiles."

Dragging his eyes away from Derek, Stiles cleared his throat and said, "Uh, sorry, no can do." Braeden frowned and he could see she was gearing up to argue. "Nothing personal; it's just they're the only pair I have and they were a bitch to make the first time around."

Pouting, Braeden reluctantly handed them over to Stiles, disappointed when they didn't have the same effect on him as they'd had on Derek. Curious. Stiles could leech pain from other werewolves and by all accounts could hear and smell with the same efficiency and she'd witnessed for herself the change in his eyes. Silver and wolfsbane, on the other hand, didn't appear to harm or hurt him in the slightest. He really _was_ turning out to be quite a mysterious anomaly.

Chancing a glance at her lover, Braeden was disturbed and confused to find him, once again, focused on Stiles. He was watching the kid with a blend of curiosity and fascination as he rolled the silver knuckles in his hands with no negative results. She had no clue what this thing was that was developing between the two Alphas but she didn't like it one bit. Braeden wasn't used to feeling threatened or scared, but she was experiencing both right now. Derek, in all the time they'd been together, and never looked at her the way he was looking at Stiles. Her heart clenched painfully. This wasn't going to end well, she could sense in her gut.

* * *

 **Okay, keep in mind that I haven't seen all the seasons of TW and it's been awhile since I've reviewed the ones I have seen. Anything that seems out of place or inaccurate just skate along with it because, when push comes to shove, this is an AU fic.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay, we're going to start to REALLY diverge from canon. Many canon characters will be incorporated into the story as we go along, especially when the Arizona Pack arrives, but there will be major differences in their back stories versus canon back stories. I just want to prepare you for that.**

 **Thanks for sticking with me this long!**

 **Chapter 9**

Derek was hard pressed to keep his eyes on the road, the enticing scent of vanilla mixed with some sort of tantalizing oriental musk kept distracting him. Stiles sat in the seat next to him pounding the empty space in front of his face with practice air punches while wielding his new invention. The silver knuckles had clearly been made to the specifications of his long, slim fingers; fitting snugly over the bony protrusions of his knuckles. They would have been much looser on Allison's smaller hands, which is what had probably saved him from even greater damage while at the mercy of the willowy brunette.

Derek was still trying to figure out how he'd ended up with Stiles riding shotgun. When they'd broken up into groups to head to the clinic, Braeden had opted to travel with Isaac and Allison. Initially, Derek had thought that the kid had driven to the motel in that traveling death trap, also known as Stiles' jeep, but he hadn't. The idiot had run more than fifteen miles from his house to where Derek and Braeden were staying. The guy must be amazingly fast to have reached them as quickly as he had.

Derek's head was swimming with far too many unanswered questions, and Deaton was going to answer them even if he had to beat them out of the other man. The Druid might have been chummy with Scott, but he and Stiles didn't have the same unfounded fondness for Deaton as the True Alpha had openly expressed.

Derek was grateful that was the case, because he wouldn't have to fight both Deaton and Stiles on every idea or point. Scott had been stubborn and unrelenting when it had come to taking advice from his former boss; the older man's words had been almost like the gospel as far as Scott had been concerned.

Not being able to stand it anymore, Derek bit out sounding agitated, "What the hell have you drenched yourself in?"

"Huh," Stiles answered looking and sounding confused.

"That stuff you have on," Derek elaborated in irritation. "Whatever it is, it's extremely annoying. You need to stop dousing yourself in that crap."

Stiles stared at Derek's profile for a second or two before snapping, "Its eau de natural, jackass. So, you're basically implying that I stink, dude. Not cool at all."

Derek frowned. Was Stiles claiming that this was his normal scent and not something synthetic? It was far from the one that he'd associated with the kid in the past. A year ago, he'd smelled of awkward innocence, constant teen-aged arousal, and tart apples topped with cinnamon. Derek's nose twitched as another waft of the kid drifted his way. Definitely different. It set him to wondering whether or not becoming an Alpha had switched things up for him in the aroma department. It wasn't unheard of, but it was rare.

Derek's hands tightened on the wheel as a tense silence filled the car. Stiles, no longer air boxing, was now silently simmering in his seat while chewing on a cuticle with vicious concentration. It wasn't that he was finding this new aspect of Stiles offensive; far from it. It was beguiling and drew Derek's wolf like none other; a fact he was finding both confusing and disturbing.

"Listen," Derek sighed after awhile, "You don't smell bad, just different and it took me by surprise."

"Oh," Stiles replied, relief flooding his scent. "No one else has said anything about it."

 _Ooooo kay_. Derek thought that was certainly weird. If he could pick up on it then the Pack should be able to as well. Hell, they'd been around the kid for far longer than Derek had, so why hadn't any of them clued Stiles in to this very distinctive change?

Shaking his head, Derek mumbled, "Weird."

" _Should_ they have?" Stiles asked, eyebrows reaching his dark brown bangs which were quite a bit longer than before Derek had hit the road.

Shrugging nonchalantly, he replied, "It is odd." Glancing at the boy, he continued, "The scent you carry now is significantly different. I'm surprised that your Pack hasn't made mention of it at least once."

At the others' concerned expression, Derek rushed to assure him, "It's nothing to be worried about, Stiles. It could have something to do with you being an Alpha now. It happens like that sometimes. Not often, but it does happen."

"So," inquired the teen-ager hesitantly, "I _don't_ stink?"

Decidedly not!

Although, when Derek answered, it was with cool indifference, "Not at all. It just shook me up for a moment."

And, that right there was a huge understatement.

Stiles surprised Derek by saying quietly, "You don't either, smell bad I mean, but you don't smell like Pack."

That hurt a little, Derek wasn't even going to pretend that it didn't.

Sensing the older man's discomfort, Stiles quickly added, "Now that you're back, I'm positive that'll change. I mean it has to, right? You'll be living with us an all that, so it would reasonably follow that you would."

Derek wasn't so sure, but nodded anyway. He could feel the boys' anxiety and didn't want to add to it. He slid into a parking space beside Allison's vehicle. They were standing by the car impatiently waiting on him and Stiles which brought home the fact that they'd been taking their time – or rather he had – on reaching the veterinary clinic.

Derek avoided Isaac's questioning gaze as he walked over to the meet the group. Isaac could tell something was up and Derek was far from ready to admit to something _he_ didn't even understand. So, he tried to play it casual and matter-of-fact.

"Took you long enough," Braeden accused, crossly. "We've been here for at least fifteen minutes waiting on your asses."

"Stiles and I took the long way round," Derek lied easily. The younger Alpha almost went cross-eyed and Isaac harrumphed, recognizing it for the untruth that it was.

"Uh, yeah, catching up and all that," Stiles answered in an attempt to back up Derek's story, but the kid couldn't lie for shit. The pink color erupting across his prominent cheekbones wasn't helping their case any either.

Braeden glared at them with such ferocity, that Derek snarled, "We didn't stop off in some secluded spot for a hot make-out session!"

Derek had absolutely no clue what had possessed him to say that, and if Stiles blushed any harder, his head was going to pop off from all the suppressed pressure. Isaac, and even Allison to a certain extent, was watching the proceedings with amusement and it really irritated Derek.

Running an agitated hand through his hair, Derek suggested much more mildly, "Let's get on with this. I'm tired and in need of something to eat and some serious caffeine."

Without saying a word, Braeden turned and stalked to the door of Deaton's office, yanking it open forcefully, she crossed the entrance while yelling over her shoulder, "I agree, let's get this over with."

Derek was left with the impression that Braeden meant far more with that statement than simply getting information from Deaton. He waited for a sinking feeling to hit, but it didn't. Instead, a sense of reluctant relief filled his gut.

It saddened him because Derek wasn't an unfeeling person and Braeden had been an integral part of this life for the last year or so. She deserved for him to feel something much more than what he was. But, you couldn't force something to be there that just wasn't meant to be.

Clearing his throat, Stiles ventured to say, "Uh, yeah, some curly fries would be awesome after we're done here."

Grimacing, Allison said, "Uggg… not for me. When we're finished grilling this asshole, I'm going home."

Derek struggled to hide his surprised expression because this was a first coming from her. He couldn't recollect her saying anything negative in regard to the vet while Scott had been among the living. It was very encouraging that Allison didn't seem too keen on Deaton either. The more people putting pressure on him the better. That way, he wasn't going to end up squirming out of what they all decided needed doing.

"Did Deaton seem um, a little bit skeevy to you at my house," Stiles quietly asked out of the corner of his mouth when the other two moved ahead of them.

"Yeah," Derek muttered back as they casually strolled along side-by-side.

Frowning, Stiles pushed further, "I'm not talking about his normal skeevy. I mean like really extra _skeevy_ , skeevy?"

"I know what you mean," Derek affirmed. "It was unsettling. Glad to know it wasn't just me."

Shaking his head, Stiles replied emphatically, "No way, dude. I caught it as well, and it has nothing to do with my already less than friendly feelings toward the guy."

Derek nodded in understanding but didn't say anything else as he opened the clinic door, waiting for Stiles. When the younger man made to pass, his arm brushed against Derek's causing every hair on his suddenly hyper-aware body to rise in response. The contact had been fleeting but immensely powerful. He heard Stiles suck in a sharp, stuttering breath as he jerked to a stop, eyeing Derek warily. Apparently he hadn't been the only one affected.

"W-what was..."

"Nothing," Derek retorted, his hand constricting brutally around the handle of the door.

"Derek…" Stiles began weakly, "I…" An embarrassingly less-than-manly squeak escaped Stiles' stunned lips when the metal let out a strained crunching noise before breaking apart in the older man's' grasp. "Whoa." Stiles swallowed hard.

Derek inhaled sharply in an attempt to regain some sort of control and then almost howled in anguished frustration when all of his senses were assaulted by everything _Stiles_ ! What was this? Why were he and his wolf suddenly and irresistibly drawn to the younger man?! Not only was it damned confusing, it also struck him as highly inappropriate given their age difference and werewolf standing.

Christ! Where was his head going? Was he actually standing here thinking of Stiles in romantic terms?! Impossible! He was a kid! Not to mention completely unaware sexually and definitely not interested in someone as damaged and emotionally constipated as Derek. There was also that small issue of Derek being a male. Stiles' preferences clearly ran toward that of the curvy persuasion if past history was any indication.

It wasn't uncommon for werewolves to engage in same-sex relationships. In fact, it was much more prevalent than most people realized. Several members of his own family had been bound lovingly to a human or werewolf of a corresponding gender. There were times when such associations hadn't lasted, but that had basically only happened when the call of a true mate had occurred.

Both parties were well aware of this possible fact before entering into a romantic relationship. That being the case, if a true mate did appear then the prior relationship was then amicably dissolved. A werewolf could no more ignore the lure of true mate's call anymore than one could prevent the sun from rising with each new breaking dawn.

"Will you just _go_ ," Derek rasped, closing his eyes; looking pained.

Thankfully, Stiles readily agreed. "Yeah, umm… go. Uh huh, that's what I'm gonna do. Like right now. See… this is me… going." He stumbled through the doorway, his haste causing him to be more clumsy than usual. He continued to babble as if he couldn't help himself, "I am so gone, dude. It's like I was never even here. Totally, and completely… gone. Like 'poof'!"

Derek stayed outside for several long minutes just breathing in the fresh, crisp air; inhaling and exhaling deeply. Now that Stiles was inside and relatively far enough away to not to affect him so intensely, he was able to get himself and his wolf under control.

He didn't know what the hell was happening to him, all of this was so out of the scope of his understanding. He wished fervently that his mom or Laura were around; they'd be able to help or offer advice as to what was going on, he was sure of it.

Taking one last, long inhalation, Derek mentally and physically braced himself and without the least bit of remorse at the destruction of someone else' property, he dumped the remnants he held in his hand into the potted plant by the door.

Stiles had no clue where he should look or how he should act when Derek finally made his way into the back room. He was totally confused, not to mention mortifyingly self-conscious about what had happened outside. Isaac was giving them both the werewolf version of the silent third degree which was making Stiles even jitterier than he already was.

He knew that the discomfort he was feeling was soundlessly but clearly proclaiming itself and reverberating back on them all. No one with wolfie senses was going to miss those shockwaves, not by a long shot. Isaac, cool guy that he was, hadn't openly called him on it. Yet. It was a good thing Erica wasn't with them; she didn't have a diplomatic, sensitive bone in her voluptuous body.

Braeden had given him a nerve-shattering, intensely forbidding sneer after he'd stumbled over to Isaac's side. Her eyes traveling over his flushed features and noting the way he was awkwardly fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie. Her gaze switched quickly to Derek, who had followed Stiles by at least a three to four minute gap. She avidly raked her eyes all over him, searching for whatever it was she was searching for; Stiles had no clue what that might be.

Whatever it was that she did find during her creepy inspection was not making her a happy camper; at all! Stiles tried not to flinch when her gaze swiveled back to him because that nasty sneer had morphed into unadulterated rage. Hey, you didn't have to be a werewolf to feel or sense it, not when it was on open display for all to see.

Stiles wasn't purposely trying to get on her bad side, not that he seemed to be able to do anything but that without even having to give it his best shot. Which, when he really thought about it, wasn't new at all. For some unknown reason, the woman had never been able to find it in herself to like him. So, he supposed that her whole – let's glare daggers at this little shit until he drops down dead – wasn't going to be ending any time soon.

Whatever. Stiles wasn't going to waste another minute more of his valuable time worrying about her inability to be decent to him. She could be pissed at him until the cows came home. Whatever. He had other concerns. Namely, this whole Alpha deal, or whatever the hell it was, because it looked as if he wasn't a werewolf but somehow was still the leader of this Pack. Then, there was this thing with Derek.

Stiles' eyes briefly flickered in the older man's direction; it didn't escape his notice that Derek was holding himself stiffly and pointedly half-turned away from him. His thick forearms were crossed forbiddingly over his chest while his face was a bland, inscrutable mask. He didn't engage with anyone else in the room as they waited on Deaton to finish up in the back. Stiles took a smidge of comfort from that fact cause it would've sucked the big one if the guy had set out to ignore just him.

The tightly wound atmosphere – even Allison remained quiet, tiredly leaning against Isaac's shoulder – was interrupted by the entrance of the very man they'd all come to see. The hem of Deaton's white lab coat fluttered back as he walked briskly toward them, an expression of concern graced his perpetually young features even though Stiles was pretty sure the guy was as old as dirt.

He wondered if the vet secretly bathed in the blood of animals to keep himself looking so fit. It sounded totally nuts, but Stiles had read some pretty gruesome possibilities when it'd come to Druids and their practices. So, was it really beyond the realms of possibility? Stiles had half a mind to think not.

Deaton came to halt in front of him; the dude was like less than a foot away, encroaching way too far into Stiles' personal space. He would have taken a step back if he could have, but the railing which ran the circumference of the waiting area was digging into his back as it was.

Without preamble, Deaton said, "I was contacted earlier today by the Arizona Pack's emissary. They're requesting that the meeting be moved up. Instead of waiting six to eight weeks, as was originally planned, they want to arrive in precisely two weeks time."

Stiles wasn't sure what he was supposed to make of that, but Deaton didn't look too thrilled by this new development, so taking his cue from that, he replied with a concerned frown, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"It isn't," Derek cut in smoothly. "If they were really coming here for peaceful purposes, they wouldn't be pushing the time frame." Growling low in his throat, Derek added harshly, " _You_ shouldn't even be parlaying with them on Stiles' behalf, Deaton!"

If Stiles had been in the doctors' shoes, he'd be kinda of concerned because Derek was on the brink of losing it. Deaton, however, remained stoic in the face of the older Alpha's evident wrath. Either the dude had no sense of self-preservation or he had brass balls the size of meteors.

Firmly, Deaton asserted, "We can salvage the situation. I informed them that the Pack was in the process of performing the death rites of their previous Alpha and that it would be at least four weeks before the necessary ceremonies would be complete. If they intend to present themselves as allies, then they have no other recourse but to honor our request for the sake of the dead."

"Death rites haven't been observed for centuries!" Derek countered. "You pulled that right out of your ass."

"Yes," Deaton agreed, "But it bought us the necessary time we need. They won't be able to enter the territory until the next full moon. Deucalion's emissary agreed."

"Oh, man," Stiles whimpered, slumping against the wall.

"Stiles," Derek gently commanded the teen-agers attention. "We can do this. _You_ can do this is."

The unflagging certainty in Derek's eyes, along with the confidence he felt coming from the other man, gave Stiles the strength he needed. Derek believed in him, and that meant the world to Stiles. He couldn't let Derek or the Pack down; he needed to protect them all because that was what a good Alpha did for his Pack.

Straightening his spine both literally and figuratively, Stiles replied with conviction, "You'll be staying to help me and the Pack."

It wasn't a request. Stiles was taking charge of the situation; he was taking his first steps as the Packs' Alpha. Derek couldn't have been more proud.

A brief smile broke the surface of Derek's face; his eyes sparkling at the challenge before him. Then, he made his intentions monumentally clear by saying, "You bet your sweet ass I'm staying."


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles wanted to fist-pump the air and howl in victory, but managed to fight off that particular instinct. He was, after all, trying to project at least a smidgen of Alpha dignity, but damn it was hard. Derek was going to stay and Stiles was just so fucking relieved! The other man wasn't going to hop back into that snazzy car of his and take off with Braeden again. He was going to stay with the Pack! With him! Stiles knew he was grinning from ear-to-ear and didn't give a damn how silly he must look, because Derek was staying! That was reason enough to be grinning like a lunatic; things were finally looking up!

Was a possible rival Pack coming to Beacon Hills? Yes. Did they probably have ulterior motives? More than likely. Was Stiles woefully unprepared for all this shit? Without a doubt. Was he going to be able to whip himself and the Pack into shape before the other Pack got here? He had no clue. Was he having a crisis of faith in his abilities? Abso-fucking-lutley!

But, right now, in this moment, Stiles was feeling better than he had since before Scott had died. And, it all boiled down to the fact that Derek was staying. Stiles wasn't going to be alone in all of this anymore. He had someone who honestly knew the ins and outs of Pack life and what it entailed. He had back-up. Stiles had Derek, and damn, it felt good! So yeah, Arizona Pack aside, things were looking up.

Even though Stiles knew it was coming, it still struck him at how ferocious Braeden's response was to Derek's announcement. She flew at the older Alpha, grabbing him by the face.

"No, Derek! No!"

Stiles wasn't the only one taken off guard by her vehement reaction. Isaac looked ready to charge at her and Allison's hands clenched convulsively by her sides; even Deaton looked slightly rattled. Which, wow, like that right there was a rarity.

"You can't," she cried out desperately. "Let's just go. Right now! We don't even have to go back to the motel!"

Derek placed his hands over hers, gently pulling until he was free of her grasp. Sighing, he answered quietly, "I can't, Braeden." Sorrowfully, he continued, "I have to be here. Leaving, for me, is no longer an option. I'm sorry."

Shaking her head slowly from side-to-side, Braeden informed him prophetically, "Beacon Hills will lead you to nothing but heartache. Heartache and death."

Eyeing each of them she added, "All of them, Derek, every last one of them will be your undoing." Zeroing in on Stiles, Braeden's eyes narrowed before she murmured, "Especially this one."

Ouch. That stung, Stiles wasn't gonna pretend it didn't. Braeden, bitch that she was, had to know that he'd never knowingly be someone elses' 'undoing'. Not _knowingly_. But, yo… this was Beacon Hills so, unfortunately, undoings were a regular occurrence. That said, why she thought that ' _this one'_ would be Derek's specific _undoing_ was beyond weird.

Placing a warn hand along the curve of her neck, Derek brought her attention back to him.

"You're wrong," he disagreed firmly. "They're Pack, and that means family, and family stands behind each other no matter what the circumstances might be. If I go down, it won't be because they've let me down."

"God," she exhaled sharply, "You honestly believe that, don't you?" When Derek nodded in agreement, Braeden slipped from his grasp while murmuring in disgust, "I've been an idiot. An idiot for thinking you would ever leave this crappy town."

Looking slightly pained, Derek answered back, "I didn't plan this, you know that. Staying was never an option when we came back here."

Stiles felt a jolt of alarm at those words, but it eased as Derek continued.

"The situation has changed. I have serious doubts that the Pack from Arizona will have altruistic motives in coming to Beacon Hills. I can't leave an untried Alpha and a relatively young Pack to its own devices. They need me."

This last part was said with such an earnest entreaty for understanding from those magnificent eyes of his, that Stiles was almost moved to do something stupid. Like shed a few damned, awkward tears; cause yeah, there haven't been enough of those lately.

"What about what _I_ need?" Grabbing him by the shoulders, she asked again, "What about that, Derek?"

When Derek remained silent and it became clear that he wasn't going to be moved by her pleas, Braeden's arms fell limply to her sides.

"You know," she began in a hollow voice, "I thought we were building a life together. I foolishly believed you were in love me. You never said the words, but I just assumed it wasn't your way to make grand declarations of any sort." Derek winced. "I'm as much of an idiot as you are."

"Braeden," Derek began slowly, only to be abruptly cut off.

"Don't even try it," she hissed angrily. "No explanation you give is going to make it okay with how you led me on. How you made me think that I was enough for you."

"Maybe not," he agreed, his mouth set in a grim line. "I will say that it wasn't my intent to hurt you and I didn't realize I was leading you on. As you said … the words were never spoken… by either of us. I was under the impression that we were comrades-in-arms and occasional fuck-buddies. I won't be made to feel guilty for something that I didn't feel."

Braeden's face hardened and despite himself, Stiles felt sorry for the woman standing bravely before Derek's hurtful dismissal of her awkward declaration. For that's what it was, and no one… not even Braeden, deserved to be on the receiving end of such a brutal assessment of over a year of being together. Stiles was astonished by Derek's clueless callousness because he didn't believe for one second that the older man meant to deliver such a killer blow.

"I see," was Braeden's monotone reply. "My mistake."

Without another word or glance at anyone else, she turned and with a few long strides reached the door and exited the clinic.

" _Dude_ ," Stiles' voice came out in a whisper, "How… how could you do that to her?"

Derek's brows drew together in a frown. "Do what?"

Shaking his head incredulously, Stiles replied crisply, "You utterly destroyed her!"

Stiles didn't think it possible, but Derek's frown actually deepened. "What? No I didn't."

Mouth agape, Stiles, after a second, managed to sputter, "You are a clueless ass. She was _in love_ with you, you great big moron of a sour wolf!"

Once again crossing his massive arms – it was like this dude's go-to stance - Derek declared with certainty, "No she wasn't. She enjoyed the sex… a lot."

Stiles felt himself blushing.

"So did I, but that's where it ended. You're reading more into this than there was. So, how about you keep your nose _and_ your mouth out of it!"

"Uh," a timid voice cut through the strained silence. "Can we take a minute and just be happy that Derek is staying." Both Derek and Stiles' heads swiveled toward Isaac. "I mean… I know _I'm_ happy about it. Thrilled really."

"Yep," Allison chimed in, from where she was still leaning against Isaac, looking worse for wear. Bashing on Derek's face had clearly taken a lot out of her.

Honestly, she looked like hell and Stiles was concerned. She was pale and thin and he wondered if she'd been ill. That wasn't the only difference Stiles noticed. While he wasn't as acquainted with her scent as he was to the others in the Pack, he could tell something was off. No one had any idea about her present state because she hadn't let anyone near her since Scott had died. There was also the fact that Chris kept her pretty close. Like almost abnormally close. For months, it seemed the only way any of them could reach Allison was through Isaac; even her BFF Lydia.

Face screwed up into a frown, Stiles asked, "You okay, Ally? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's totally awesome to see you in the flesh and all, but you don't look so hot."

Isaac wrapped his arm around her frail looking shoulders and Allison just seemed to sigh and collapse even more deeply against him. Giving Stiles a wan smile, Allison remarked quietly, "I'm tired, Stiles. So very, very tired and have _you_ looked in the mirror lately?"

"Whoa, harsh much?" Stiles quipped with a fake hurt expression.

"She's right, Stiles," Derek put in with real concern in his voice. "As an Alpha, physically you should look and feel far more robust." Raking his gaze over Stiles' prominent cheekbones and lanky body, he added, "You're even thinner than when you were human and that's not how the bite works."

"Hell...o! Not bitten!" Stiles threw out tartly. "Also… grieving! Been a bit busy here while you been traveling the world without a care in your Sour Wolf brain!"

And Stiles was so _not_ reacting, at all, to Derek's negative remarks on his body. Nope. Not at all!

Eying the two Alpha's as they glared at each other standing a scant foot apart, Deaton finally said, "I may have something on why that might be."

Both heads pivoted in the former Emissary's direction. Deaton paused slightly which is when the other two men, impatiently exclaimed in unison, "Well?!"

Unperturbed, Deaton calmly spelled it out. "As you know, ever since Stiles has shown his aptitude to being a Spark, I've been training him and helping him to learn how to harness and cultivate his power. When Scott passed along his Alpha legacy to you, I noticed a difference, as I explained earlier, if you recall."

Both Alphas nodded an affirmative.

"I also said that it was a kind of an expansion of your magical properties, Stiles, followed by a dimming effect to your Spark. Both of which are as intriguing as they are worrying. It could be this sporadic dimming and expanding of your magic which might be part of the reason as to why you have some characteristics of an Alpha and not others."

"Uh, and you never said anything to me about this because..."

"At the time, I wasn't sure if it was important enough to mention or even why it was happening" Deaton told him, ignoring the tight set of Stlies' jaw and his flashing red eyes. "I did some research and it appears that the fact that you weren't bitten, but still somehow managed to harness Scott's status as Alpha, is in all probability, why you maintain certain characteristics of a werewolf and not others."

"Well, that's as clear as mud, dude." Stiles snarled. "Care to shed a bit more light on this, or what?"

"Hold it a minute, Stiles," Derek quietly commanded and then gave Deaton a look that demanded some cut and dry answers. "Is it possible that Stiles' body is rejecting Scott's legacy just as certain peoples' bodies reject the Bite?"

Horror-struck, Stiles exclaimed, "Am I gonna die?"

Isaac let out a low, pained whine. Turning to his beta, Stiles reached over and cupped the other boy's neck and whispered, "Easy there."

"I can't… I don't think I could stand it," Isaac admitted in a broken voice. Allison curled closer to the blonde, offering comfort which was readily accepted.

"You're not gonna die, Stiles!" Derek stated forcefully. "I'm sure the rejection of the Bite is totally different than rejecting a non-bitten legacy from an Alpha."

The murderous expression in Derek's eyes, defied the vet to answer in anything other than a positive outcome for Stiles.

Sighing, the older man said, "I'm not sure what's happening or what the end result will be."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Stiles rattled off, "Great, just great. I mean, really awesome."

Derek grabbed the shoulder of the floundering young man and said in a soothing manner, "Relax. We'll figure it out."

Surprisingly, that is exactly what happened. Stiles came to a halt, took a deep breath and went quiet for a few seconds before asking, "Yeah?"

Those beautiful, hopeful golden orbs were begging Derek to tell him that things would be okay. Summoning up a small smile, Derek reiterated, "Yeah." He could actually feel the tension melt away from Stiles' body.

"Well okay then, let's figure out what the hell's going on with me."

"More research is needed," Deaton explained. "What happened to Stiles is extraordinarily rare. I know of no other case in hundreds, possibly thousands of years. Because of this, it makes it difficult to pin down how the power from Scott is interacting with the magical power of Stiles' Spark."

"We need Lydia on the case with you," Stiles murmured while reaching in the pocket of his hoodie for his cell.

"I don't think that's necessary," Deaton quickly dismissed the proposed offer of help.

"Why not," Derek asked, face implacable. "Is there a reason you don't want one of our own in on this research?"

Stiles appreciated how Derek was vocalizing the suspicions that he was also harboring upon hearing the speed in which the Druid vetoed his idea regarding Lydia.

"Not at all," the older man denied. "I merely fear that it may be beyond her capabilities as many of the texts, scrolls and clay tablets I will be utilizing are in ancient languages and cuneiform."

Not to be deterred, Stiles stated with absolute certainty, "Lydia Martin is the most capable and most majorly smart person I know, and she _will_ be working with you or you can count yourself out altogether."

Derek was impressed with the way Stiles was handling the enigmatic former Emissary, but was completely thrown for a loop when the younger Alpha added, "With you out, that would mean I'll need another person to help me with my Spark and maybe, just maybe, this visiting Pack from Arizona will have someone willing to guide me."

Deaton's head reared back, a flash of panic briefly crossed his face before he reluctantly relented. "As you wish."

"Great," Stiles muttered as he hit the speed dial on his phone and inched further away from Deaton.

A wise move, Derek thought. The rest of the occupants, Allison notwithstanding, would be able to hear Lydia's responses but Deaton would not. No doubt, Isaac would fill Allison in later. His eyes were drawn back to the pair huddled close together. Something was very off. Isaac's scent was relatively the same as he remembered though now it was tinged with sadness – not unusual given the circumstances – but even that was overshadowed by a whole lot of anxiety. Derek could only surmise that said anxiety was due to the young woman currently melded to the beta's body.

In Derek's opinion, Isaac had a reason to be anxious. Allison smelled… off. Stiles' had smelled off too, but in a very good way. In that case, Derek had wanted to do what Allison was doing with Isaac, crawl as far into Stiles' personal space as was possible. Whereas Allison's scent was all muddled and difficult to identify properly. Like so much he had encountered since his return, Derek found this strange and confusing. While not repulsive, it was off-putting.

So focused on the two young people in the corner, Derek missed the entire, brief conversation between Stiles and Lydia except for the ending where Stiles was thanking 'Lyds' for her awesomeness and she could be heard blowing a kiss into the phone while informing Stiles that he owed her and knew what she expected in return. Clearly, they were on much more intimate terms than when before he'd left Beacon Hills. A notion that had Derek's gut churning and his hackles rising.

As if aware of his turmoil, both Isaac and Stiles gave him their undivided attention while gracing him with duplicate confused, curiously searching stares, all of which made Derek's anxiety level rise another notch. He felt a sudden strong urge to run. Run and run until all this madness was obliterated from his brain and wiped clean from his heart. It was right for him to have decided to stay, but with Stiles looking at him so earnestly with wide, compassionate eyes, Derek wondered if it was the _wisest_ course of action.

These _things_ that he was experiencing were troubling. Bad enough that the Arizona Pack were going to be making their way into Hal… _Stiles_ ' territory. There were times when Derek had to consciously remind himself that Beacon Hills was no longer his providence; old habits die hard. But there was then also this thing with Allison and, of course, the ever unhelpful Deaton and to top it all off there was this anomaly with Stiles' Spark.

"You okay there, big guy," Stiles asked, touching concern etched on his fine features.

When Derek remained silent, Stiles gripped him by the bicep and with very little effort on his part, pulled him around until he was facing the young man and just that simple action, that small touch, had Derek's heart thumping and he was praying to every god in existence that the other two werewolves in the room either couldn't hear it or would be decent enough to ignore it.

Then Stiles made it all infinitely worse when those strong, but gentle hands landed on his shoulders, commanding without words, that he meet the younger Alpha's gaze. After doing so, Stiles' fingers slid over the slope of his collarbones, moving until he was cupping either side of Derek's neck, much like he'd done earlier with Isaac to comfort him. Yet, comfort was the last thing Derek was feeling as Stiles' thumbs lightly stroked the sensitive skin behind his ears.

In a confidence-inspiring tone, Stiles stated, "We're gonna be okay. Just like you said. Yeah?"

It took a great deal of will power to resist the urge to turn his face into one of those palms and nuzzle and lick while drowning himself in the younger mans' sweet-smelling scent, but Derek managed it… barely.

The hard lump in his throat made it difficult, but again he managed to pull himself together long enough to whisper, "Yeah."

Stiles' brilliantly, blinding smile in response made his heart clench because in that instant, Derek knew he was well and truly screwed.


End file.
